Чарльз Буковски: Цитаты на английском языке (страница 18)

“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.”

“I wasn’t going anywhere and neither was the rest of the world. We were all just hanging around waiting to die and meanwhile doing little things to fill the space. Some of use weren’t even doing little things. We were vegetables.”

“I am not a snob; it is simply that I am not interested with what most people have to say, or what they want to do — mostly with my time.”

“If something burns your soul with purpose and desire, it’s your duty to be reduced to ashes by it. Any other form of existence will be yet another dull book in the library of life.”

“… and we are in bed together
laughing
and we don’t care
about anything.”

“sometimes it's hard to know
what to
do.”

“but isn't there always
one good thing
to look back on?

think of
how many cups of coffee we
drank together.”

“Why did I come here? I thought. Why is it always only a matter of choosing between something bad and something worse?”

“She had wild eyes, slightly insane. She also carried an overload of compassion that was real enough and which obviously cost her something.”

“I wish I were driving a blue 1952 Buick
or a dark blue 1942 Buick
or a blue 1932 Buick
over a cliff of hell and into the
sea.”

“To be young is the only religion.”

“I feel no grief for being called something
which
I am not;
in fact, it's enthralling, somehow, like a good
back rub”

“I write as a function. Without it I would fall ill and die. It's as much a part of one as the liver or intestine, and just about as glamorous.”

“my youth,
one time,
that time
I knew
even through the
nothingness,
it was a
celebration
of something not to
do
but only
know.”

“…He was always high on drugs. I was not a drug man, but in case I wanted to hide from myself for a few days, I knew I could get anything I wanted from him.”

“There was nothing glorious about the life of a drinker or the life of a writer.”

“I just let it roll. Like a hot turd down a hill.”

“They were beautiful nothings”

“I take much pleasure in being alone
but there is also a strange warm grace in not being alone.”