sifting through the madness for the word, the line, the way Quotes
sifting through the madness for the word, the line, the way
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Charles Bukowski1,063 ratings, 4.21 average rating, 50 reviews
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sifting through the madness for the word, the line, the way Quotes
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“Why do we embroider everything we say
with special emphasis
when all we really need to do
is simply say what
needs to he said?
Of course
the fact is
that there is very little that needs
to be said.”
― Charles Bukowski, sifting through the madness for the word, the line, the way
with special emphasis
when all we really need to do
is simply say what
needs to he said?
Of course
the fact is
that there is very little that needs
to be said.”
― Charles Bukowski, sifting through the madness for the word, the line, the way
“but isn't there always
one good thing
to look back on?
think of
how many cups of coffee we
drank together.”
― Charles Bukowski, sifting through the madness for the word, the line, the way
one good thing
to look back on?
think of
how many cups of coffee we
drank together.”
― Charles Bukowski, sifting through the madness for the word, the line, the way
“the last cigarettes are smoked, the loaves are sliced,
and lest this be taken for wry sorrow,
drown the spider in wine.
you are much more than simply dead:
I am a dish for your ashes,
I am a fist for your vanished air.
the most terrible thing about life
is finding it gone.”
― Charles Bukowski, sifting through the madness for the word, the line, the way
and lest this be taken for wry sorrow,
drown the spider in wine.
you are much more than simply dead:
I am a dish for your ashes,
I am a fist for your vanished air.
the most terrible thing about life
is finding it gone.”
― Charles Bukowski, sifting through the madness for the word, the line, the way
“from the beginning, through the
middle years and up to the
end:
too bad, too bad, too bad.”
― Charles Bukowski, sifting through the madness for the word, the line, the way
middle years and up to the
end:
too bad, too bad, too bad.”
― Charles Bukowski, sifting through the madness for the word, the line, the way
“little sun little moon little dog
and a little to eat and a little to love
and a little to live for
in a little room
filled with little
mice
who gnaw and dance and run while I sleep
waiting for a little death
in the middle of a little morning
in a little city
in a little state
my little mother dead
my little father dead
in a little cemetery somewhere.
I have only
a little time
to tell you this:
watch out for
little death when he comes running
but like all the billions of little deaths
it will finally mean nothing and everything:
all your little tears burning like the dove,
wasted.”
― Charles Bukowski, sifting through the madness for the word, the line, the way
and a little to eat and a little to love
and a little to live for
in a little room
filled with little
mice
who gnaw and dance and run while I sleep
waiting for a little death
in the middle of a little morning
in a little city
in a little state
my little mother dead
my little father dead
in a little cemetery somewhere.
I have only
a little time
to tell you this:
watch out for
little death when he comes running
but like all the billions of little deaths
it will finally mean nothing and everything:
all your little tears burning like the dove,
wasted.”
― Charles Bukowski, sifting through the madness for the word, the line, the way