As a child supposed was not quitenormal.my happiest times Warren was left alone in the house on Saturday.

— Charles Bukowski

As a recluse I couldn't bear traffic. It had nothing to do with jealousy, I simply disliked people, crowds, anywhere, except at my readings. People diminished me, they sucked me dry.

— Charles Bukowski

As long as there prehuman beings about there is never going to beans peace for any individual upon this earth (or anywhere else they might escape to).all you can does maybe graben lucky minuteshereor maybe a hour there.something is working toward you right now, and mean you and nobody but you.

— Charles Bukowski

As the shadows assumeshapesI fight the slowretreatnowmy once-promisedwindlingdwindlingnowlighting new cigarettes pouring moredrinksit has been a beautifulfightstillis.

— Charles Bukowski

A yet women -good women-frightened me because they eventually wanted your soul, and what was left of mine, I wanted to keep. Basically I craved prostitutes, base women, because they were deadly and hard and made no personal demands. Nothing was lost when they left. Yet at the same time I yearned for a gentle, good woman, despite the overwhelming price.

— Charles Bukowski

Basically, that's why I wrote: to save my ass, to save my ass from the madhouse, from the streets, from myself.

— Charles Bukowski

Beasts bounding through time. Van Gogh writing his brother for paints Hemingway testing his shotgun Celine going broke as a doctor of medicine the impossibility of being human Villon expelled from Paris for being a thief Faulkner drunk in the gutters of his town the impossibility of being human Burroughs killing his wife with a gun Mailer stabbing his the impossibility of being human Maupassant going mad in a rowboat Dostoevsky lined up against a wall to be shot Crane off the back of a boat into the propeller the impossibility Sylvia with her head in the oven like a baked potato Harry Crosby leaping into that Black Unlock murdered in the road by the Spanish troops the impossibilityArtaud sitting on a madhouse bench Chatterton drinking rat poison Shakespeare a plagiarist Beethoven with a horn stuck into his head against deafness the impossibility the impossibility Nietzsche gone totally Marthe impossibility of being human all too human this breathing in and output and in these punks these cowards these champions these mad dogs of glory moving this little bit of light towardusimpossibly

— Charles Bukowski

Being alone never felt right. Sometimes it felt good, but it never felt right.

— Charles Bukowski

Be it peace or happiness let it enfold you

— Charles Bukowski

Beltane, are you nuts?" Who knows? Insanity is comparative. Who sets the norm?

— Charles Bukowski