there was something about that city, though it didn't let me feel guilty that I had no feeling for the things so many others needed. it let me alone. sitting up in my bed the lights out, hearing the outside sounds, lifting my cheap bottle of wine, letting the warmth of the grape enter me as I heard the rats moving about the room, I preferred them to humans. being lost, being crazy maybe is not so bad if you can be that way undisturbed. New Orleans gave me that. nobody ever called my name.
Charles BukowskiThere is only one place to write and that is alone at a typewriter. The writer who has to go into the streets is a writer who does not know the streets. . . when you leave your typewriter you leave your machine gun and the rats come pouring through.
Charles BukowskiI like women who havenโt lived with too many men. I donโt expect virginity but I simply prefer women who havenโt been rubbed raw by experience. There is a quality about women who choose men sparingly; it appears in their walk in their eyes in their laughter and in their gentle hearts. Women who have had too many men seem to choose the next one out of revenge rather than with feeling. When you play the field selfishly everything works against you: one canโt insist on love or demand affection. Youโre finally left with whatever you have been willing to give which often is: nothing.
Charles BukowskiI went to the bathroom and threw some water on my face, combed my hair. If I could only comb that face, I thought, but I can't.
Charles Bukowski