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Charles Bukowski Quotes - Page 30

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Writers are nothing but beggars with a good line.

Writers are nothing but beggars with a good line.

Charles Bukowski
Lines, Beggar
Charles Bukowski, David Calonne (2013). “Absence of the Hero”, p.152, City Lights Books

Yes?’ he asked, looking at me over the sheet. ‘I’m a writer temporarily down on my inspirations.’ ‘Oh, a writer, eh?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘Are you sure?’ ‘No, I’m not.’ ‘What do you write?’ ‘Short stories mostly. And I’m halfway through a novel.’ ‘A novel, eh?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘What’s the name of it?’ ‘”The Leaky Faucet of My Doom.”‘ ‘Oh, I like that. What’s it about?’ ‘Everything.’ ‘Everything? You mean, for instance, it’s about cancer?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘How about my wife?’ ‘She’s in there too.

Charles Bukowski
Cancer, Inspiration, Writing

Well, the rain had stopped but the pain was still there.

Charles Bukowski
Pain, Rain, Wells

Art is its own excuse, and it's either Art or it's something else. It's either a poem or a piece of cheese.

Charles Bukowski
Art, Pieces, Cheese
Charles Bukowski (2015). “On Writing”, p.26, Canongate Books

Joan of Arc had style. Jesus had style.

Charles Bukowski
Jesus, Style, Arcs

since some people had told me that I was ugly, I always preferred shade to the sun, darkness to light

Charles Bukowski
Light, People, Darkness
Charles Bukowski (2001). “Ham On Rye”, p.99, Canongate Books

there is moss on the walls and the stain of thought and failure and waiting

Charles Bukowski
Wall, Waiting, Moss
Charles Bukowski (2012). “The Pleasures of the Damned: Selected Poems 1951-1993”, p.152, Canongate Books

I remember when each 4th lot was vacant and overgrown, and the landlord only go this rent when you had it, and each day was clear and good and each moment was full of promise.

Charles Bukowski
Promise, Each Day, Remember

we sat there smoking cigarettes at 5 in the morning.

Charles Bukowski
Morning, Smoking, Cigarette
Charles Bukowski (2012). “The Pleasures of the Damned: Selected Poems 1951-1993”, p.103, Canongate Books

the psyche has been burned and left us senseless, the world has been darker than lights-out in a closet full of hungry bats, and the whiskey and wine entered our veins when blood was too weak to carry on

Charles Bukowski
Wine, Blood, Light
Charles Bukowski (2012). “The Pleasures of the Damned: Selected Poems 1951-1993”, p.60, Canongate Books

I didn't feel that way about it. I had been playing with death for some time. I can't say we were the best of friends but we were well acquainted.

Charles Bukowski
Way, Wells, Feels
Charles Bukowski (2013). “The Most Beautiful Woman in Town”, p.139, City Lights Books

I should think that many of our poets, the honest ones, will confess to having no manifesto. It is a painful confession but the art of poetry carries its own powers without having to break them down into critical listings. I do not mean that poetry should be raffish and irresponsible clown tossing off words into the void. But the very feeling of a good poem carries its own reason for being... Art is its own excuse, and it’s either Art or it’s something else. It’s either a poem or a piece of cheese.

Charles Bukowski
Art, Mean, Thinking
Charles Bukowski (2015). “On Writing”, p.26, Canongate Books

and now sometimes I'm interviewed, they want to hear about life and literature and I get drunk and hold up my cross-eyed, shot, runover de-tailed cat and I say,"look, look at this!" but they don't understand, they say something like,"you say you've been influenced by Celine?" no," I hold the cat up,"by what happens, by things like this, by this, by this!

Charles Bukowski
Cat, Drunk, Looks
Charles Bukowski, “The History Of One Tough Motherfucker”

Daddy,' my mother asked, 'aren’t we going to run out of gas?' No there’s plenty of god-damned gas.' Where are we going?' I’m going to get some god-damed oranges!

Charles Bukowski
Mother, Running, Orange

Christmas poem to a man in jail hello Bill Abbott: I appreciate your passing around my books in jail there, my poems and stories. if I can lighten the load for some of those guys with my books, fine. but literature, you know, is difficult for the average man to assimilate (and for the unaverage man too); I don't like most poetry, for example, so I write mine the way I like to read it.

Charles Bukowski
Book, Writing, Men

That the young rich smell the stink of the poor and learn to find it a bit amusing. They had to laugh, otherwise it would be too terrifying.

Charles Bukowski
Smell, Laughing, Would Be

There was nothing glorious about the life of a drinker or the life of a writer.

Charles Bukowski
Alcohol, Glorious, Drinkers

It was like a church in there as only the truly lost sit in bars on Tuesday mornings at 8:00 a.m.

Charles Bukowski
Morning, Tuesday, Church
Charles Bukowski (2012). “The Pleasures of the Damned: Selected Poems 1951-1993”, p.54, Canongate Books

Courts are places where the ending is written first and all that precedes is simply vaudeville.

Charles Bukowski
Law, Vaudeville, Firsts
Charles Bukowski (2013). “Notes of a Dirty Old Man”, p.46, City Lights Books

After dinner or lunch or whatever it was -- with my crazy 12-hour night I was no longer sure what was what -- I said, "Look, baby, I'm sorry, but don't you realize that this job is driving me crazy? Look, let's give it up. Let's just lay around and make love and take walks and talk a little. Let's go to the zoo. Let's look at animals. Let's drive down and look at the ocean. It's only 45 minutes. Let's play games in the arcades. Let's go to the races, the Art Museum, the boxing matches. Let's have friends. Let's laugh. This kind of life like everybody else's kind of life: it's killing us.

Charles Bukowski
Baby, Art, Jobs
Charles Bukowski (2014). “Charles Bukowski Fiction Collection”, Harper Collins

I'm too careless. I don't put out enough effort. I'm tired.

Charles Bukowski
Tired, Effort, Enough

my 6 foot goddess makes me laugh the laughter of the mutilated who still need love... she has saved me from everything that is not here

Charles Bukowski
Laughter, Feet, Laughing
Charles Bukowski (2009). “Love is a Dog From Hell”, p.19, Harper Collins

I like the way Mahler wandered about in his music and still retained his passion. He must have looked like an earthquake walking down the street.

Charles Bukowski
Passion, Earthquakes, Mahler

I'm going to open another vottle. not a vottle, but a bottle. you open it and I'll drink it. and you try to write as much as I did without falling off of your chair.

Charles Bukowski
Fall, Writing, Trying
Charles Bukowski (2008). “Charles Bukowski: portions from a wine-stained notebook : uncollected stories and essays, 1944-1990”, City Lights Publishers

nobody ever finds the one

Charles Bukowski
Charles Bukowski, “Alone With Everybody”

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