I drive around the streets an inch away from weeping, ashamed of my sentimentality and possible love. — Charles Bukowski Copy Share Image
Basically, that's why I wrote: to save my ass, to save my ass from the madhouse, from the streets, from myself. — Charles Bukowski Copy Share Image
What good are you? What can you do? It has cost me a thousands of dollars to raise you, feed you, clothe… — Charles Bukowski Copy Share Image
I got up and walked back to my roominghouse. The moonlight was bright. My footsteps echoed in the empty street and it… — Charles Bukowski Copy Share Image
I like the way Mahler wandered about in his music and still retained his passion. He must have looked like an earthquake… — Charles Bukowski Copy Share Image
Those faces you see every day on the streets were not created entirely without hope: be kind to them: like you they… — Charles Bukowski Copy Share Image
I wasn't sleeping on the streets at night. Of course, there were a lot of good people sleeping in the streets. They… — Charles Bukowski Copy Share Image
The streets were full of insane & dull people. Most of them lived in nice houses and didn't seem to work, and… — Charles Bukowski Copy Share Image
I was naturally a loner, content just to live with a woman, eat with her, sleep with her, walk down the street… — Charles Bukowski Copy Share Image
“I see men assassinated around me every day. I walk through rooms of the dead, streets of the dead, cities of the… — Charles Bukowski Copy Share Image
The dog approached again, cautiously. I found the bologna sandwich, ripped off a chunk, wiped the cheap watery mustard off, then placed… — Charles Bukowski Copy Share Image
why don't we go back out there and tell them what happened? because nothing happened except that everybody has been driven insane… — Charles Bukowski Copy Share Image
There is only one place to write and that is alone at a typewriter. The writer who has to go into the… — Charles Bukowski Copy Share Image
The street to my left was backed up with traffic and I watched the people waiting patiently in the cars. There was… — 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
