You Get So Alone At Times That It Just Makes Sense

by Charles Bukowski

we only have ourselves to go on, and it’s enough…

there is nothing that will put a person more in touch with the realities than an 8 hour job.

have just listened to this symphony which Mozart dashed off in one day and it had enough wild and crazy joy to last forever, whatever forever is Mozart came as close as possible to that.

we have our Bomb it is our fear our damnation and our shame.

it took me a long time to find the most interesting person to drink with: myself,

the freeway is a circus of cheap and petty emotions, it’s humanity on the move, most of them coming from some place they hated and going to another they hate just as much or more.

agony sometimes changes form but it never ceases for anybody.

there’s nothing to discuss there’s nothing to remember there’s nothing to forget it’s sad and it’s not sad seems the most sensible

thing a person can do is sit with drink in hand as the walls wave their goodbye smiles

the price of creation is never too high. the price of living with other people always is.

then comes the great and peaceful moment: sitting alone

and pouring that quiet drink. the world is better without them. only the plants and the animals are true comrades. I drink to them and with them. they wait as I fill their glasses.