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
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.
morning pain moving
morning night and noon the traffic moves through and the murder and treachery of friends and lovers and all the people move through you. pain is the joy of knowing the unkindest truth that arrives without warning. life is being alone death is being alone. even the fools weep morning night and noon.
morning tuesday church
It was like a church in there as only the truly lost sit in bars on Tuesday mornings at 8:00 a.m.
morning holiday phones
soon I'll finish this 5th of Puerto Rican rum. in the morning I'll vomit and shower, drive back in, have a sandwich by 1 p.m., be back in my room by 2, stretched on the bed, waiting for the phone to ring, not answering, my holiday is an evasion, mt reasoning is not.
morning smoking cigarette
we sat there smoking cigarettes at 5 in the morning.
morning alive stills
In the morning it was morning and I was still alive.
morning bed remember
I don't remember going to bed, but in the morning, there I was.
morning
It's 4:30 in the morning, it's always 4:30 in the morning.
mother monday morning
Well, people got attatched. Once you cut the umbilical cord they attatched to the other things. Sight, sound, sex, money, mirages, mothers, masturbation, murder, and Monday morning hangovers.
morning color awakening
I remember awakening one morning and finding everything smeared with the color of forgotten love.
morning jesus thinking
I don't know about other people, but when I wake up in the morning and put my shoes on, I think, Jesus Christ, now what?
love morning reality
Love is kind of like when you see a fog in the morning, when you wake up before the sun comes out. It's just a little while, and then it burns away... Love is a fog that burns with the first daylight of reality.
morning inspirational-love coffee
I will remember the kisses our lips raw with love and how you gave me everything you had and how I offered you what was left of me, and I will remember your small room the feel of you the light in the window your records your books our morning coffee our noons our nights our bodies spilled together sleeping the tiny flowing currents immediate and forever your leg my leg your arm my arm your smile and the warmth of you who made me laugh again.
morning faces bed
The courage it took to get out of bed each morning to face the same things over and over was enormous.