Love is a fog that burns with the first daylight of reality.
CHARLES BUKOWSKIOnly the boring get bored.
More Charles Bukowski Quotes
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We’ve died so many times now that we can only wonder why we still care.
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Real loneliness is not necessarily limited to when you are alone.
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The world is full of boring, identical and mindless people.
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Of course it’s possible to love a human being if you don’t know them too well.
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Poetry is what happens when nothing else can.
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In my next life I want to be a cat. To sleep 20 hours a day and wait to be fed.
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I don’t remember going to bed, but in the morning, there I was.
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Almost everybody is born a genius and buried an idiot.
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Sometimes you climb out of bed in the morning and you think, I’m not going to make it, but you laugh inside – remembering all the times you’ve felt that way.
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What matters most is how well you walk through the fire.
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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.
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What a weary time those years were – to have the desire and the need to live but not the ability.
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Knowledge without follow – through is worse than no knowledge.
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Baby,” I said, “I’m a genius but nobody knows it but me.
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Dogs and angels are not very far apart.
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Beware of those who seek constant crowds; they are nothing alone.
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Slavery was never abolished, it was only extended to include all the colors.
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My ambition is handicapped by laziness.
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There is always one woman to save you from another and as that woman saves you she makes ready to destroy.
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Love need not be a command nor faith a dictum.
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Wherever the crowd goes run in the other direction. They’re always wrong.
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It wasn’t my day. My week. My month. My year. My life. God damn it.
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If you’re going to try, go all the way. Otherwise, don’t even start.
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I want so much that is not here and do not know where to go.
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A love like that was a serious illness, an illness from which you never entirely recover.
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There is a loneliness in this world so great that you can see it in the slow movement of the hands of a clock.
CHARLES BUKOWSKI