Charles Bukowski
Charles Bukowski
Henry Charles Bukowskiwas an American poet, novelist, and short story writer...
NationalityAmerican
ProfessionPoet
Date of Birth16 August 1920
CityAndernach, Germany
CountryUnited States of America
writing men cliffs
There is something about writing poetry that brings a man close to the cliff's edge.
running writing night
I never write in the daytime. It's like running through the shopping mall with your clothes off. Everybody can see you. At night ... that's when you pull the tricks ... magic.
letting-go writing needs
The public takes from a writer, or a writing, what it needs and lets the remainder go. but what they take is usually what they need least and what they let go is what they need most.
writing gun typewriters
WHEN YOU LEAVE YOUR TYPEWRITER YOU LEAVE YOUR MACHINE GUN AND THE RATS COME POURING THROUGH.
women modern-woman pockets
Modern women ... they don't sew your pockets ... forget that.
death morning eggs
... to die on a kitchen floor at 7 o'clock in the morning while other people are frying eggs is not so rough unless it happens to you.
soul my-soul
You have my soul and I have your money
moving tired night
And it seems people should not build houses anymore it seems people should stop working and sit in small rooms on second floors under electric lights without shades; it seems there is a lot to forget and a lot not to do and in drugstores, markets, bars, the people are tired, they do not want to move, and I stand there at night and look through this house and the house does not want to be built
fun agony years
we had such tremendous fun and much agony together for some years
loneliness simple despair
she was consumed by 3 simple things: drink, despair, loneliness; and 2 more: youth and beauty
silly coffee men
I would certainly end up forever crying the blues into a coffee cup in a park for old men playing chess or silly games of some sort.
good-luck eye past
we drove on and on, past little villages and both good things and bad things were happening to the people in those villages too, but I still was nothing but arms and ears and eyes and maybe there'd be either some good luck for me or more death tomorrow.
nylon rust sand
I have loved you woman as surely as I have named you rust and sand and nylon.
people burning hell
I am not like other people. I am burning in hell. The hell of myself.