Some moments are nice, some are nicer, some are even worth writing about.
CHARLES BUKOWSKI
CHARLES BUKOWSKI
More Charles Bukowski quotes
I loved you like a man loves a woman he never touches, only writes to, keeps little photographs of.
Charles BukowskiCharles Bukowski The problem with the world is that the intelligent people are full of doubts, while the stupid ones are full of confidence.
Charles BukowskiCharles Bukowski Great art is horseshit, buy tacos.
Charles BukowskiCharles Bukowski Simplicity is always the secret, to a profound truth, to doing things, to writing, to painting. Life is profound in its simplicity
Charles BukowskiCharles Bukowski The tired sunsets and the tired people – it takes a lifetime to die and no time at all.
Charles BukowskiCharles Bukowski Any asshole can chase a skirt, art takes discipline.
Charles BukowskiCharles Bukowski We are here to unlearn the teachings of the church, state, and our educational system.
Charles BukowskiCharles Bukowski We’ve died so many times now that we can only wonder why we still care.
Charles BukowskiCharles Bukowski We are like roses that have never bothered to bloom when we should have bloomed and it is as if the sun has become disgusted with waiting.
Charles BukowskiCharles Bukowski Beauty is nothing, beauty won’t stay. You don’t know how lucky you are to be ugly, because if people like you, you know it’s for something else.
Charles BukowskiCharles Bukowski Boring damned people. All over the earth. Propagating more boring damned people. What a horror show. The earth swarmed with them.
Charles BukowskiCharles Bukowski Sometimes you just have to pee in the sink.
Charles BukowskiCharles Bukowski Without literature, life is hell.
Charles BukowskiCharles Bukowski Being alone never felt right. sometimes it felt good, but it never felt right.
Charles BukowskiCharles Bukowski Sex is interesting, but it’s not totally important.
Charles BukowskiCharles Bukowski Anything is a waste of time unless you are fucking well or creating well or getting well or looming toward a kind of phantom – love – happiness.
Charles BukowskiCharles Bukowski