I was a man who thrived on solitude; without it I was like another man without food or water. Each day without solitude weakened me. I took no pride in my solitude; but I was dependent on it. The darkness of the room was like sunlight to me.
Charles BukowskiThe blankets had fallen off and I stared down at her white back, the shoulder blades sticking out as if they wanted to grow into wings, poke through that skin. Little blades. She was helpless.
Charles BukowskiThe worst thing for a writer is to know another writer, and worse than that, to know a number of other writers. Like flies on the same turd.
Charles Bukowski