Play the Piano Drunk Like a Percussion Instrument Until the Fingers Begin to Bleed a Bit. — Charles Bukowski Copy Share Image
I went to the worst of bars hoping to get killed but all I could do was to get drunk again. — Charles Bukowski Copy Share Image
I used to lay drunk in alleys and I probably will again.Bukowski, who is he? I read about Bukowski and it doesn't… — Charles Bukowski Copy Share Image
Anybody can be a non-drunk. It takes a special talent to be a drunk. It takes endurance. Endurance is more important than… — Charles Bukowski Copy Share Image
There would never be a way for me to live comfortably with people. Maybe I'd become a monk. I'd pretend to believe… — Charles Bukowski Copy Share Image
It's hot tonight and half the neighborhood is drunk. the other half is dead. if I have any advice about writing poetry… — Charles Bukowski Copy Share Image
I sit here drunk now. I am a series of small victories and large defeats and I am as amazed as any… — Charles Bukowski Copy Share Image
and now sometimes I'm interviewed, they want to hear about life and literature and I get drunk and hold up my cross-eyed,… — Charles Bukowski Copy Share Image
I suppose like others I have come through fire and sword, love gone wrong, head-on crashes, drunk at sea, and I have… — Charles Bukowski Copy Share Image
There's no light at the end of the tunnel, there isn't even a tunnel. The best thing I can do is get… — Charles Bukowski Copy Share Image
“and now sometimes I’m interviewed, they want to hear about life and literature and I get drunk and hold up my cross-eyed… — Charles Bukowski Copy Share Image
Getting drunk was good. I decided that I would always like getting drunk. It took away the obvious and maybe if you… — Charles Bukowski Copy Share Image
pull a string, a puppet moves ... each man must realize that it can all disappear very quickly: the cat, the woman,… — Charles Bukowski Copy Share Image
“I was drawn to all the wrong things: I liked to drink, I was lazy, I didn't have a god, politics, ideas,… — Charles Bukowski Copy Share Image
“there wasn't a stove and we put cans of beans in hot water in the sink to heat them up and we… — Charles Bukowski Copy Share Image
I needed a vacation. I needed 5 women. I needed to get the wax out of my ears. My car needed an… — Charles Bukowski Copy Share Image
I could scream down 90 mountains to less than dust if only one living human had eyes in the head and heart… — 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
