Charles Bukowski
Charles Bukowski
Henry Charles Bukowskiwas an American poet, novelist, and short story writer...
NationalityAmerican
ProfessionPoet
Date of Birth16 August 1920
CityAndernach, Germany
CountryUnited States of America
love-is people feel-good
Love is a form of prejudice. You love what you need, you love what makes you feel good, you love what is convenient. How can you say you love one person when there are ten thousand people in the world that you would love more if you ever met them? But you'll never meet them.
old-friends used
I have gotten so used to melancholia that I greet it like an old friend.
morning inspirational-love coffee
I will remember the kisses our lips raw with love and how you gave me everything you had and how I offered you what was left of me, and I will remember your small room the feel of you the light in the window your records your books our morning coffee our noons our nights our bodies spilled together sleeping the tiny flowing currents immediate and forever your leg my leg your arm my arm your smile and the warmth of you who made me laugh again.
trying way ifs
If you're going to try, go all the way. Otherwise, don't even start.
lucky
In a more universal sense, we only get one thing. You know...a head stone if we're lucky; if not, green grass.
spirit form
as the spirit wanes the form appears
suicide soul rockets
unless it comes out of your soul like a rocket, unless being still would drive you to madness or suicide or murder, don't do it. unless the sun inside you is burning your gut, don't do it. when it is truly time, and if you have been chosen, it will do it by itself and it will keep on doing it until you die or it dies in you. there is no other way. and there never was.
real men poet
The poet, as a rule, is a half-man - a sissy, not a real person, and he is in no shape to lead real men in matters of blood, or courage.
drinking thinking two
Drinking is another way of thinking, another way of living. It gives you two lives instead of one.
school eye men
I see men assassinated around me every day. I walk through rooms of the dead, streets of the dead, cities of the dead; men without eyes, men without voices; men with manufactured feelings and standard reactions; men with newspaper brains, television souls and high school ideas.
kissing lips remember
I will remember the kisses, our lips raw with love, and how you gave me everything you had and how I offered you what was left of me.
trying tough ass
The role of the poet is almost nothing...drearily nothing. And when he steps outside of his boots and tries to get tough as our dear Ezra [Pound] did, he will get his pink little ass slapped.
people introvert empty
People empty me. I have to get away to refill.
insanity norm relative
Insanity is relative. Who sets the norm?