Quotes from Charles Bukowski

but please if you feel that way don't phone don't write don't arrive

as you are stuck in your poor body and in your poor life and it's all slowly dissolving, dissolving into nothing. like all the other bodies, like all the other lives, we all are being counted out, taken down by disease by just being rubbed up against the hard days, the harder years. there's no escaping this, we just have to take it, accept it— or like most— not think about it. at all.

He was bursting with enthusiasms. He probably loved many things: the hawk in flight, the god-damned ocean, full moon, Balzac, bridges, stage plays, the Pulitzer Prize, the piano, the god-damned Bible.

Czekaj?c zabi?em 4 muchy. Cholera, ?mier? czai si? wsz?dzie.

I got the blues. I got the blues. that dog loved and trusted me and I let it walk away.

The less i needed the better i felt.

She pointed at me. I felt important. I had lost so many women to so many other guys that it felt good for the thing to be working the other way around.

Žem?. Smogas, žmogžudyst?s, užnuodytas oras, užnuodytas maistas, neapykanta, beviltiškumas, viskas. Vienintelis nuostabus dalykas Žem?je - gyv?nai, ta?iau ir juos naikina, tuoj nebeliks n? vieno išskyrus prijaukintas žiurkes ir hipodromo žirgus.

No matter how little a man has he will find that he will always settle for less.

I could stay here, I thought, make money at the track while she nurses me over the bad moments, rubs oils on my body, cooks for me, talks to me, goes to bed with me.

too much acceptance destroys. so listen, my fine fellows and ladies, I am going to ignore your late applause, I intend to still play it loose, commit my errors, enrage the entrenched and piss upon your guardians, angels and / or devils. I intend to do what I have to do, what I have always done. it's been too much fun to falter now.  you will not escape my iron grip and I will escape yours.

I was tired and wet and hungover, but I was usually that way and I waded through the weariness like I did the water.

Sulla via per l'inferno c'è sempre un sacco di gente, ma è comunque una via che si percorre in solitudine.

it's always when a man's swollen with love and everything else that it keeps raining splattering flooding rain good for the trees and the grass and the air… good for things that live alone. — Charles Bukowski, from "Prayer in Bad Weather," Love Is a Dog from Hell: Poems, 1974-1977 . (Ecco; Ecco edition May 31, 2002) Originally published 1977.

I never hit another home run. I struck out most of the time. But they always remembered that home run and while they still hated me, it was a better kind of hatred, like they weren't quite sure why.

So that's what they wanted: lies. Beautiful lies. That's what they needed. People were fools. It was going to be easy for me.

Wealth meant victory and victory was the only reality. What

I am satisfied with my aggressive nature as I tickle death under the armpits.

the rent is a little higher here but so far I've been able to pay it and that's a miracle too like still maybe being sane while thinking of guns and sidewalks and old ladies in libraries.

Life is and is not a gentle bore.

We are paper thin. We exist by chance between the percentages, temporarily. And this is the best and the worst part, the time factor. And there's nothing you can do about it. You can sit on top of a mountain and meditate for decades and nothing will change. You can change yourself to be acceptable, but maybe this is wrong. Perhaps we think too much. Feel more, think less.

There wasn't even resignation on my part, only disgust, a disgust that this had happened to me, and a disgust with the doctors who couldn't do anything about it. They were helpless and I was helpless, the only difference being that I was the victim.

I guess what makes me feel better are the truly sane: the motorcycle cop in a clean uniform who gives me a ticket and then rides away on two wheels like a man who never had an itchy crotch.

Todos los domingos la gente venía y aspiraba aquel olor a meado y nadie decía nada. Quería hablarle al cura acerca de ello, pero no podía. Quizás fueran los cirios.