Henry Charles Bukowski (born Heinrich Karl Bukowski; August 16, 1920 – March 9, 1994) was a German-American poet, novelist, and short story writer.
Morals were restrictive, but they were grounded on human experience.
Even the stove and the refrigerator looked human, I mean good human - they seemed to have arms and voices and they said, hang around, kid, it's good here, it can be very good here.
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!
You have my soul and I have your money
When a hot woman meets a hermit one of them is going to change.
We use such big words to move nowhere.
Drink from the well of yourself and begin again.
The world had somehow gone too far, and spontaneous kindness could never be so easy.
stay with the beer. beer is continuous blood. a continuous lover.
You are thirty minutes late. " "Yes. " "Would you be thirty minutes late to a wedding or a funeral?" "No. " "Why not, pray tell?" "Well, if the funeral was mine I'd have to be on time. If the wedding was mine it would be my funeral.
Long ago, among other lies they were taught that silence was bravery.
God knows I am not too hippy. Perhaps because I am too much around the hip and I fear fads for, like anybody else, I like something that tends to last.
Knowledge without follow-through is worse than no knowledge.
The shortest distance between two points is often unbearable.
but isn't there always one good thing to look back on? think of how many cups of coffee we drank together.
I have been treated better than I should have been---not by life in general nor by the machinery of things but by women.
Of course, there would always be arguments. That is the nature of Woman. They like the mutual exchange of dirty laundry, a bit of screaming, a bit of dramatics. Then an exchange of vows.
I hated you when it would have taken less courage to love.
from the beginning, through the middle years and up to the end: too bad, too bad, too bad.
It was hard for me to believe. When recess was over I sat in class and thought about it. My mother had a hole and my father had a dong that shot juice. How could they have things like that and walk around as if everything was normal, and talk about things, and then do it and not tell anybody?