Charles Bukowski, You Get So Alone At Times That It Just Makes Sense Quotes
Now something so sad has hold of us that the breath leaves and we can't even cry.
yes, Wagner and the storm intermix with the wine as nights like this run up my wrists and up into my head and back down into the gut
the price of creationis nevertoo high.the price of livingwith other peoplealwaysis.
it doesn't matter if Prince Charles falls off his horseor that the hummingbird is so seldomseenor that we are too senseless to goinsane.coffee. give us more of that NOTHINGcoffee.
I am sad for the dead and I am sad for the livingbut not for my 5 cats
as the shadows assumeshapesI fight the slowretreatnowmy once-promisedwindlingdwindlingnowlighting new cigarettespouring moredrinksit has been a beautifulfightstillis.
I didn't know who tobelievebutone thing I doknow: when a man islivingmany claim relationshipsthat are hardlysoand after he dies, well, then it's everybody'sparty.
when I drive the freeways I see the soul of humanity ofmy city and it's ugly, ugly, ugly: the living have choked theheartaway.
one doesn't even think ofthe liverand if the liverdoesn't think ofus, that'sfine.
I found the best thingI could dowas just to type awayat my own workand let the dyingdieas they always have.
sometimes it's hard to knowwhat todo.
regret is mostly caused by not havingdone anything.
sometimes all we need to be able to continue aloneare the deadrattling the wallsthat close us in.
there's no clarity.there was never meant to be clarity.
the world is better withoutthem.only the plants and the animals aretrue comrades.I drink to them and withthem.
having nothing to struggleagainstthey have nothing to strugglefor.
she wasn't veryinterestingbut few peopleare.
it does seemthe more we drinkthe better the wordsgo.
the courage it took to get out of bed eachmorningto face the same thingsover and overwasenormous.
I love you butdon't know what todo.
It got so bad that Al thoughtmaybe it washimso he went to a shrinkand askedand the shrink said, "you're one of the sanest menI've ever met."poor Al.that made him feelworse than ever.
I remember yoursaying: "make itor break it."neither happened anditwon't.
the best part waspulling down theshadesstuffing the doorbellwith ragsputting the phonein therefrigeratorand going to bedfor 3 or 4days. and the next bestpartwasnobody evermissedme.
I paid, got up, walkedto the door, openedit.I heard the mansay, "that guy'snuts."out on the street Iwalked northfeelingcuriouslyhonored.
I believe that to be the world's greatest livingwriterthere must be somethingterribly wrong with you.I don't even want to be the world's greatestdead writer.just being dead would be fairenough.
I see a brightportionunder the overhead lightthat shades intodarknessand then into darkerdarknessand I can't see beyond that.
the worst thing, " he told me, "is bitterness, people end up sobitter.
she slammed the door andwas gone.I looked at the closed doorand at the doorknoband strangelyI didn't feelalone.
the gods seldomgivebut so quicklytake.
