Charles Bukowski Quotes
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Sex was a trap, a snare. It was for animals.
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Humanity, you never had it to begin with.
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I kept writing not because I felt I was so good, but because I felt they were so bad, including Shakespeare, all those. The stilted formalism, like chewing cardboard.
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a woman candropout of yourlife andforget youreal fast.a womancan't go anywherebut UPafterleaving you,honey.
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It's possible to love a human being if you don't know them too well.
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Those who have been writing literature have not been writing life.
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Bad taste creates many more millionaires than good taste.
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Human relationships didn't work anyhow. Only the first two weeks had any zing, then the participants lost their interest. Masks dropped away and real people began to appear: cranks, imbeciles, the demented, the vengeful, sadists, killers. Modern society had created its own kind and they feasted on each other. It was a duel to the death-in a cesspool.
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My ambition is handicapped by my laziness.
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If I'm an ass, I should say so. If I don't, somebody else will. If I say it first, that disarms them.
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I have no definite talent or trade, and how I stay alive is largely a matter of magic.
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I used to live on one candy bar a day - it cost a nickel. I always remember the candy bar was called Payday. That was my payday. And that candy bar tasted so good, at night I would take one bite, and it was so beautiful.
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I would be married, but I'd have no wife, I would be married to a single life.
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We're all going to die, all of us; what a circus! That alone should make us love each other, but it doesn't. We are terrorized and flattened by trivialities. We are eaten up by nothing.
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Sometimes I felt that I didn’t even know who I was. All right, I’m Nicky Belane. But check this. Somebody could yell out, ‘Hey, Harry! Harry Martel!’ and I’d most likely answer, ‘Yeah, what is it?’ I mean, I could be anybody, what does it matter?
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there were these peopleon the ground,they were reaching up theirarms and trying to pull medownbutthey couldn't doit.I felt like pissing onthem.they were sojealous.all they had to do wasto work their wayslowly up to itas I haddone.such people thinksuccess grows ontrees.you and I,we knowbetter.
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An intellectual says a simple thing in a hard way. An artist says a hard thing in a simple way.
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I thought about taking a shower but I could see the headlines: MAILMAN CAUGHT DRINKING THE BLOOD OF GOD AND TAKING A SHOWER, NAKED, IN A ROMAN CATHOLIC CHURCH. ...I found out later that mail for the church was delivered to the parish house around the corner. But now, of course, I knew where to... shower when I'm down and out.
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Much publishing is done through politics, friends, and natural stupidity.
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I have not worked out my poems with a careful will, falling rather on haphazard and blind formulation of wordage, a more flowing concept, in a hope for a more new and lively path. I do personalize at times, but this only for the grace and elan of the dance.
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there's a bluebird in my heart thatwants to get outbut I'm too tough for him,I say, stay in there, I'm not goingto let anybody see you....I only let him outat night sometimeswhen everybody's asleep....he's singing a littlein there, I haven't quite let himdie...and it's nice enough tomake a manweep, but I don'tweep,doyou?
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Something was always after a man. It never relented. No rest, ever.
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I didn't even have a uniform, just a cap. I wore my regular clothes. The way my shackjob Betty and I drank there was hardly money for clothes.
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'Every man is a poet'