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,… — Charles Bukowski Copy Share Image
He asked, "What makes a man a writer?" "Well," I said, "it's simple. You either get it down on paper, or jump… — Charles Bukowski Copy Share Image
Writing is something that you don't know how to do. You sit down and it's something that happens, or it may not… — Charles Bukowski Copy Share Image
They looked as if nothing had ever touched them--all well-mothered, protected, with a soft sheen of contentment. None of them had ever… — Charles Bukowski Copy Share Image
To me Art (poetry) is a continuous and continuing process and that when a man fails to write good poetry he fails… — Charles Bukowski Copy Share Image
You are thirty minutes late." "Yes." "Would you be thirty minutes late to a wedding or a funeral?" "No." "Why not, pray… — Charles Bukowski Copy Share Image
What's genius? I don't know but I do know that the difference between a madman and a professional is that a pro… — Charles Bukowski Copy Share Image
Bad luck for the young poet would be a rich father, an early marriage, an early success or the ability to do… — Charles Bukowski Copy Share Image
You know the typical crowd, Wow, it’s Friday night, what are you going to do? Just sit there? Well, yeah. Because there’s… — Charles Bukowski Copy Share Image
well, i don't know about you but I'm going to try everything! War, women, travel, marriage, children, the works. [...]. I want… — Charles Bukowski Copy Share Image
If you can't write the next line, well, you're dead. The past doesn't matter. — 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
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
For those who believe in God, most of the big questions are answered. But for those of us who can't readily accept… — Charles Bukowski Copy Share Image
I guess for me Hemingway is a lot like it is for others: he goes down well when we are young. — Charles Bukowski Copy Share Image
It's possible to love a human being if you don't know them too well. — Charles Bukowski Copy Share Image
When Ginsburg is at the top of his game you might as well put down your toys and listen. — 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