We don’t even ask happiness, just a little less pain.
Charles BukowskiStichwörter: happiness pain unhappiness bukowski unhappy
Oh, I don’t mean you’re handsome, not the way people think of handsome. Your face seems kind. But your eyes - they’re beautiful. They’re wild, crazy, like some animal peering out of a forest on fire.
Charles BukowskiStichwörter: bukowski handsome
Basically, that's why I wrote: to save my ass, to save my ass from the madhouse, from the streets, from myself.
Charles BukowskiStichwörter: writing salvation bukowski
To create art means
to be crazy alone
forever.
Stichwörter: poetry bukowski bukowskisism
Hay cosas peores que
estar solo
pero a menudo toma décadas
darse cuenta de ello
y más a menudo
cuando esto ocurre
es demasiado tarde
y no hay nada peor
que
un demasiado tarde.
Stichwörter: bukowski
and if I have any advice to give to anybody it’s this: take up watercolor painting.
Charles BukowskiStichwörter: bukowski
The whole world is a sack of shit ripping open. I can´t save it.
Charles BukowskiStichwörter: humor life 42 bukowski
We’ve all heard that little woman who says, “Oh, it’s terrible what these young people do to themselves, in my lsi other drugs, is a terrible thing”.
Then you look, the woman who speaks in this way: you have no eyes, no teeth, no brains, no soul, no ass, no mouth, no warmth, no spirit, nothing, just a stick… and avran made you wonder how to reduce it in that state teas and pastries and the church.
Stichwörter: life church bukowski
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.
Chales BukowskiStichwörter: life love bukowski
Writing was never work for me. It had been the same for as long as I could remember: turn on the radio to a classical music station, light a cigarette or a cigar, open the bottle. The typer did the rest. All I had to do was be there. The whole process allowed me to continue when life itself offered very little, when life itself was a horror show. There was always the typer to soothe me, to talk to me, to entertain me, to save my ass. Basically that's why I wrote: to save my ass, to save my ass from the madhouse, from the streets, from myself.
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