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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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I've given you my time. It's all I've got to give — it's all any man has.

— Charles Bukowski

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