regret is mostly caused by not havingdone anything. — Charles Bukowski, You Get So Alone at Times That it Just Makes Sense
regret is mostly caused by not havingdone anything. — Charles Bukowski, You Get So Alone at Times That it Just Makes Sense
regret is mostly caused by not havingdone anything. — Charles Bukowski, You Get So Alone at Times That it Just Makes Sense
regret is mostly caused by not havingdone anything. — Charles Bukowski, You Get So Alone at Times That it Just Makes Sense
regret is mostly caused by not havingdone anything. — Charles Bukowski, You Get So Alone at Times That it Just Makes Sense
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regret is mostly caused by not havingdone anything.

— Charles Bukowski, You Get So Alone at Times That it Just Makes Sense
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More “Bukowski” Quotes

Her one drink had Cecelia giggling and talking and she was explaining that animals had souls too. Nobody challenged her — Charles Bukowski, Women
You're the most unknown famous man I ever met — Charles Bukowski, Women
I don't know. It's been terribly hard for me. How do I know you won't do it again?''Nobody is ever quite sure of what th — Charles Bukowski, Women
You women have more holes than swiss cheese. — Charles Bukowski, Poems and Insults
All we do is sleep, and eat and lay around and make love. We're like slugs. Slug-love, I call it. — Charles Bukowski, Women
Any damn fool can beg up some kind of job — it takes a wise man to make it without working.
the first place smelled like work, so I took the second — Charles Bukowski, Post Office
that's ONE thing that's wrong with intellectuals and writers - they don't feel a hell of a lot except their own comfort — Charles Bukowski, Tales of Ordinary Madness
unaccountably we are aloneforever aloneand it was meant to bethat way,it was never meantto be any other way–and when the — Charles Bukowski, Come On In!: New Poems
all theorieslike clichesshot to hell,all these small faceslooking upbeautiful and believing;I wish to weepbut sorrow iss — Charles Bukowski, What Matters Most is How Well You Walk Through the Fire
all people start tocome apart finallyand there it is:just empty ashtrays in a roomor wisps of hair on a combin the disso — Charles Bukowski
The ass is the face of the soul of sex. — Charles Bukowski