Quotes from Charles Bukowski

Quando tutto sarà finito sono sicuro che mi verrà concesso un minuto per ripensare a tutte le volte che volevo urlare cosa sentivo, ma sono stato zitto per paura di non essere capito, e rimpiangerò gli obbiettivi che ho abbandonato perché il timore di fallire mi ha impedito di perseguirli. Questa vita è una puttana e probabilmente mi spezzerà il cuore, ma cazzo, sono innamorato.

we each at times should remember the most elevated and lucky moment of our lives. for me it was being a very young man and sleeping penniless and friendless upon a park bench in a strange city which doesn't say much for all those many decades which followed.

I get very tired of the precious intellects who must speak diamonds every time they open their mouths. I get tired of battling for each space of air for the mind. that's why I stayed away from people for so long, and now that I am meeting people, I find that I must return to my cave. there are other things beside the mind: there are insects and palm trees and pepper shakers, and I'll have a pepper-shaker in my cave, so laugh.

No me enorgullecía de mi soledad, pero dependía de ella. La oscuridad de la habitación era fortificante para mí como lo era la luz del sol para otros hombres.

I always felt it would pass. I listened to the charges against me knowing some of them to be true but certainly not important enough to become the target of violence, envy, vengeance. I thought it would surely pass.

What is your philosophy of life?" "Think as little as possible." "Anything else?" "When you can't think of anything else to do, be kind.

There is really nothing you can do easily: live or die or accept fame or money or defeat, it's all hard.

cuando estaba en buena forma espiritual, después de comer lavaba el plato inmediatamente.

When you didn't know how to do anything that's what you became—a shipping clerk, receiving clerk, stock boy.

destroying beauty a rose red sunlight; I take it apart in the garage like a puzzle: the petals are as greasy as old bacon and fall like the maidens of the world backs to floor and I look up at the old calendar hung from a nail and touch my wrinkled face and smile because the secret is beyond me.

For I know that all things have their price,especially when they are advertised as being free

you chippy hunk of shit,/don't bad mouth me! I'm/the toughest guy in town, you don't know/who the hell you're in this room/with!

she likes that and I like it too because to/make a thing true all you've/got to do is believe

What's the sin in being poor?

so you went with the famous and wrote about the famous, and, of course, what you found out is that the famous are worried about their fame—not the beautiful young girl in bed with them

I loved you like a man loves a woman he never touches, only writes to, keeps little photographs

he still couldn't write or what he wrote didn't work because that tremendous brave optimism that buoyed everybody up so well during the depression just turned to sugar water during good times.

Fay had grey hair and always dressed in black. She said she was protesting the war.

get me in a room with more than 3 people I tend to act ill odd.

I like reading the Sunday papers in bed. I like orange ribbons tied around the cat's neck. I like sleeping up against a body that I know well.

there's nothing to discuss there's nothing to remember there's nothing to forget it's sad and it's not sad seems the most sensible thing a person can do is sit with drink in hand as the walls wave their goodbye smiles one comes through it all with a certain amount of efficiency and bravery then leaves some accept the possibility of God to help them get through others take it straight on and to these I drink tonight.

Turguenev era um homem muito sério mas fazia-me rir porque a verdade quando é encontrada pela primeira vez pode ser divertida. Quando a verdade de alguém é semelhante à tua verdade, e parece que está apenas a dizê-la a ti, é fantástico.

the gods have been kind to me through this life-style that would have killed an ox of a man and I'm no ox of a man.

Chopin's bones are dead and they are shooting from the housetops and I sit in a dirty noisy kitchen in hell writing to Henry Miller.