Charles Bukowski led a colorful, sometimes bleak and pretty anonymous life until fame blessed his latter years. These are but a handful of his pearls of wisdom:
An intellectual says a simple thing in a hard way. An artist says a hard thing in a simple way.*
Writers are desperate people and when they stop being desperate, they stop being writers.
In my work, as a writer, I only photograph, in words, what I see.
We're all going to die, all of us; what a circus! That alone should make us love each other, but it doesn't. We are terrorized and flattened by trivialities. We are eaten up by nothing.
Find what you love and let it kill you.
Beware of those that seek constant crowds; they are nothing alone.
You begin saving the world by saving one man at a time: all else is grandiose romanticism or politics.
People are not good to each other. Perhaps if they were, our deaths would not be so sad.
* Reminds me of the conversation which led John Lennon to his succinct conclusion:
God is a concept by which we measure our pain.
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