You Get So Alone At Times That It Just Makes Sense

by Charles Bukowski

Van, whores don’t want ears they want money.

I always had this certain contentment— I wouldn’t call it happiness— it was more of an inner balance that settled for whatever was occurring

what matters most is how well you walk through the fire.

now, listen, when I die I don’t want any crying, just get the disposal under way, I’ve had a full some life, and if anybody has had an edge, I’ve had it, I’ve lived 7 or 8 lives in one, enough for anybody.

Li Po knew what to do: drink another bottle and face the consequences.

but I wish you could see my cat he has a splash of white on his face against an orange-yellow background and