The centuries are sprinkled with rare magic with divine creatures who help us get past the common and extraordinary ills that beset us
Charles BukowskiThe role of the poet is almost nothing...drearily nothing. And when he steps outside of his boots and tries to get tough as our dear Ezra [Pound] did, he will get his pink little ass slapped.
Charles Bukowskimorning night and noon the traffic moves through and the murder and treachery of friends and lovers and all the people move through you. pain is the joy of knowing the unkindest truth that arrives without warning. life is being alone death is being alone. even the fools weep morning night and noon.
Charles Bukowski