writers are desperate people and when they stop being desperate they stop being writers. — Charles Bukowski Copy Share Image
She was desperate and she was choosey at the same time and, in a way, beautiful, but she didn't have quite enough… — Charles Bukowski Copy Share Image
People need me. I fill them. If they can't see me for a while they get desperate, they get sick. But if… — Charles Bukowski Copy Share Image
“and as my gray hands drop a last desperate pen in some cheap room they will find me there and never know… — Charles Bukowski Copy Share Image
he asked, "what makes a man a writer?" "well," I said, "it's simple, it's either you get it down on paper or… — Charles Bukowski Copy Share Image
“sometimes when everything seems at its worst when all conspires and gnaws and the hours, days, weeks years seem wasted – stretched there upon… — Charles Bukowski Copy Share
well, death says, as he walks by, I'm going to get you anyhow no matter what you've been: writer, cab-driver, pimp, butcher, sky-diver, I'm… — Charles Bukowski Copy Share
“There is only one place to write and that is alone at a typewriter. A writer who has to go into the streets is… — Charles Bukowski Copy Share
Even the stove and the refrigerator looked human, I mean good human - they seemed to have arms and voices and they said, hang… — Charles Bukowski Copy Share
“nerves twitching in the sheets -- to face the sunlight again, that's clearly trouble. I like the city better when the neon lights are… — Charles Bukowski Copy Share
“Their Love Is Average, Seeks Average But There Is Genius In Their Hatred” — Charles Bukowski Copy Share
“I climbed the stairway (there was no elevator) and put the key in. The door swung open. Somebody had changed all the furniture around,… — Charles Bukowski Copy Share
“Strangers when you meet, strangers when you part -a gymnasium of bodies namelessly masturbating each other. People with no morals often considered themselves more… — Charles Bukowski Copy Share
I like to change liquor stores frequently because the clerks got to know your habits if you went in night and day and bought… — Charles Bukowski Copy Share
“I was like a turd that drew flies instead of like a flower that butterflies and bees desired. I wanted to live alone,I felt… — Charles Bukowski Copy Share
I went home each night dizzy and sick. He was murdering me with the sound of his voice. — Charles Bukowski Copy Share
“the nights you fight best are when all the weapons are pointed at you, when all the voices hurl their insults while the dream… — Charles Bukowski Copy Share
