Author of quotes: Charles Bukowski. Page 2

Don't call back, I thought. The best woman I've met and so screwed up. I deserve to be defeated. I deserve to die alone in a mental hospital.

I decided to live until eighty. Just think: you are eighty, and *** eat eighteen! This is the only way to cheat death in the game, if you can cheat at all.

Love is for guitarists, Catholics and chess maniacs.

I always distanced myself from everyone and watched people from the sidelines. Kind of like theater - they were on stage, and I'm a lonely spectator.

I would never have dared to do this without a headband.

For me, the people who stood behind these books and who entered my life out of nowhere were the only salvation. Their voices spoke to me and resonated with me.

The whole problem was that you had to choose between one evil and another. The results of the choice did not matter, anyway, they took you by the gills and *** ali in full, by the age of twenty-five most people had already become complete idiots. A whole nation of idiots who are obsessed with their cars, food and offspring. And the worst thing is that in the presidential elections they voted for the candidate who most resembled the gray majority.

Women in it were in abundance - generous bunches - filling buttocks, spricking legs, ripe breasts. Yeah, the breasts are amazing.

Most of the travelers had already been assigned to colleges and, therefore, at least four years they were not in danger of working life.

Fastidiously bent over the handout, buried his nose in it, sniffed it, turned and trotted away. This time he didn't even turn around, moving faster and faster down the street. Unsurprisingly, I was constantly depressed - inadequate nutrition.

Well, I don't know about you, but I'm going to try everything! War, women, travel, marriage, children, various jobs. I will assemble my first car from spare parts! I want to know all about things, about what makes them work! I would like to be a correspondent in Washington. I want to be where big things happen.

The little man looked at me wearily. Sadness hung in large folds on his face. All that remained of him was his eyebrows, mustache and two sad eyes.

The poor have the right to *** as they please. Sex, booze and maybe love are all they have.

I wasn't quite normal myself. From early childhood, I felt something strange in myself. I felt like I was doomed to be a murderer, a bank robber, a saint, a rapist, a monk, a hermit.