They have no idea that it can be done by a bus driver, a field hand, or a fry cook. They have no idea where it comes from. It comes from pain, damnation and impossibility. The blow to the soul of the gut. It comes from getting burned and seared and slugged. It comes from...new and awful places and the same old places.
Charles BukowskiI walked around the block twice, passed 200 people and failed to see a human being.
Charles BukowskiWhen 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 drive around the streets an inch away from weeping, ashamed of my sentimentality and possible love.
Charles BukowskiWomen: I liked the colors of their clothing; the way they walked; the cruelty in some faces; now and then the almost pure beauty in another face, totally and enchantingly female. They had it over us: they planned much better and were better organized. While men were watching professional football or drinking beer or bowling, they, the women, were thinking about us, concentrating, studying, deciding - whether to accept us, discard us, exchange us, kill us or whether simply to leave us. In the end it hardly mattered; no matter what they did, we ended up lonely and insane.
Charles Bukowski