The 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 BukowskiAn intellectual says a simple thing in a hard way. An artist says a hard thing in a simple way.
Charles BukowskiThat's how it is with books, isn't it: They're not in a hurry. They'll wait for you till you're ready. People empty me. I have to go away to refill.
Charles Bukowski