And remember this: The page you are looking at now, I once typed the words with care with you in mind under a yellow light with the radio on.

— Charles Bukowski

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We were never meant to be what we are or where we are, we are looking for an escape, some music from the sun, the girl we never found. We are betting on the miracle again there before the purple mountains as the horses parade past so much more beautiful than our lives.

— Charles Bukowski

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I feat on solitude, I will never miss the crowd.

— Charles Bukowski

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The crowd is the gathering place of the weakest; true creation is a solitary act.

— Charles Bukowski

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Things get bad for all of us, almost continually, and what we do under the constant stress reveals who/what we are.

— Charles Bukowski

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A love like that was a serious illness, an illness from which you never entirely recover.

— Charles Bukowski

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You get so alone at times that it just makes sense.

— Charles Bukowski

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Right on the edge of fear was where trust could grow.

— Charles Bukowski

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