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
drinking wine writing
I write right off the typer. I call it my "machinegun." I hit it hard, usually late at night while drinking wine and listening to classical music on the radio and smoking mangalore ganesh beedies.
drink hard
It’s hard to drink when you dance. And it’s hard to dance when you drink.
prayer lying drinking
in the cupboard sits my bottle like a dwarf waiting to scratch out my prayers. I drink and cough like some idiot at a symphony, sunlight and maddened birds are everywhere, the phone rings gamboling its sound against the odds of the crooked sea; I drink deeply and evenly now, I drink to paradise and death and the lie of love.
loneliness drinking bars
I hid in bars, because I didn't want to hide in factories.
drinking silly people
When I'm drinking around people, I tend to get silly or pugnacious or wild, which can cause problems.
suicide spring drinking
I think a man can keep on drinking for centuries, he'll never die; especially wine or beer...I like drunkards, man, because drunkards, they come out of it, and they're sick and they spring back, they spring back and forth...If I hadn't been a drunkard, I probably would have committed suicide long ago.
wall drinking wine
Long before I became 'rich and famous' I just sat round drinking wine and staring at the walls.
drinking alcohol earth
Alcohol is probably one of the greatest things to arrive upon the earth - alongside of me.
drinking thinking alcohol
I think I need a drink.' 'Almost everybody does only they don't know it.
suicide way drink
One more drink and you're dead. This is no way to talk to a suicide head.
alcohol glorious drinkers
There was nothing glorious about the life of a drinker or the life of a writer.
drinking beer blood
stay with the beer. beer is continuous blood. a continuous lover.
drinking world moments
When you drank the world was still out there, but for the moment it didn’t have you by the throat.
art drinking writing
I remembered my New Orleans days, living on two five-cent candy bars a day for weeks at a time in order to have leisure to write. But starvation, unfortunately, didn't improve art. It only hindered it. A man's soul was rooted in his stomach. A man could write much better after eating a porterhouse steak and drinking a pint of whiskey than he could ever write after eating a nickel candy bar. The myth of the starving artist was a hoax.