There may not be a hell, but those who judge may create one. I think people are over-taught. They are over-taught everything.… — 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
That's how it is with books, isn't it: They're not in a hurry. They'll wait for you till you're ready. People empty… — Charles Bukowski Copy Share Image
Well, people got attatched. Once you cut the umbilical cord they attatched to the other things. Sight, sound, sex, money, mirages, mothers,… — Charles Bukowski Copy Share Image
People are strange: They are constantly angered by trivial things, but on a major matter like totally wasting their lives, they hardly… — Charles Bukowski Copy Share Image
To me, nudity is a joke. I don't think nude people are very attractive at all. I like my women fully clothed.… — 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
And it seems people should not build houses anymore it seems people should stop working and sit in small rooms on second… — 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
Oh, I don’t mean you’re handsome, not the way people think of handsome. Your face seems kind. But your eyes - they’re… — Charles Bukowski Copy Share Image
But then if you lied to a man about his talent just because he was sitting across from you, that was the… — Charles Bukowski Copy Share Image
Some people have written that my writing has helped them go on. It has helped me too. The writing, the roses, the… — Charles Bukowski Copy Share Image
Boring damned people. All over the earth. Propagating more boring damned people. What a horror show. The earth swarmed with them. — Charles Bukowski Copy Share Image
People were usually much better in their letters than in reality. They were much like poets in this way. — Charles Bukowski Copy Share Image
There's nothing like privacy. You know, I like people. It's nice that they might like my books and all that...but I'm not… — Charles Bukowski Copy Share Image
I guess we often get the deep blues, both of us, and wonder what it all means- the people, the buildings, the… — Charles Bukowski Copy Share Image
I am not like other people. I am burning in hell. The hell of myself. — 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 Image
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 Image
“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 Image
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 Image
“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 Image
“Their Love Is Average, Seeks Average But There Is Genius In Their Hatred” — Charles Bukowski Copy Share Image
“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 Image
“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 Image
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 Image
“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 Image
