Victor Getsov > Victor's Quotes

“lay down. lay down like an animal and wait.”
― Charles Bukowski, You Get So Alone at Times That it Just Makes Sense

“Now something so sad has hold of us that the breath leaves and we can't even cry.”
― Charles Bukowski, You Get So Alone at Times That it Just Makes Sense

“Do you hate people?”

“I don't hate them...I just feel better when they're not around.”
― Charles Bukowski, Barfly

“what matters most is how well you walk through the fire”
― Charles Bukowski

“I loved you like a man loves a woman he never touches, only writes to, keeps little photographs of.”
― Charles Bukowski, Love Is a Dog from Hell

“There's a bluebird in my heart that wants to get out
but I'm too tough for him,
I say, stay in there, I'm not going to let anybody see you.”
― Charles Bukowski

“Poetry is what happens when nothing else can.”
― Charles Bukowski

“Baby," I said, "I'm a genius but nobody knows it but me.”
― Charles Bukowski, Factotum

“What a weary time those years were -- to have the desire and the need to live but not the ability.”
― Charles Bukowski, Ham on Rye

“there's a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I'm too clever, I only let him out
at night sometimes
when everybody's asleep.
I say, I know that you're there,
so don't be
sad.
then I put him back,
but he's singing a little
in there, I haven't quite let him
die
and we sleep together like
that
with our
secret pact
and it's nice enough to
make a man
weep, but I don't
weep, do
you?”
― Charles Bukowski

“great writers are indecent people
they live unfairly
saving the best part for paper.

good human beings save the world
so that bastards like me can keep creating art,
become immortal.
if you read this after I am dead
it means I made it.”
― Charles Bukowski, The People Look Like Flowers at Last

“Style is the answer to everything.
A fresh way to approach a dull or dangerous thing
To do a dull thing with style is preferable to doing a dangerous thing without it
To do a dangerous thing with style is what I call art

Bullfighting can be an art
Boxing can be an art
Loving can be an art
Opening a can of sardines can be an art

Not many have style
Not many can keep style
I have seen dogs with more style than men,
although not many dogs have style.
Cats have it with abundance.

When Hemingway put his brains to the wall with a shotgun,
that was style.
Or sometimes people give you style
Joan of Arc had style
John the Baptist
Jesus
Socrates
Caesar
García Lorca.

I have met men in jail with style.
I have met more men in jail with style than men out of jail.
Style is the difference, a way of doing, a way of being done.
Six herons standing quietly in a pool of water,
or you, naked, walking out of the bathroom without seeing me.”
― Charles Bukowski

“The difference between a democracy and a dictatorship is that in a democracy you vote first and take orders later; in a dictatorship you don't have to waste your time voting”
― Bukowski C.

“I often carry things to read
so that I will not have to look at
the people.”
― Charles Bukowski, The Last Night of the Earth Poems

“writers are desperate people and when they stop being desperate they stop being writers.”
― Charles Bukowski

“nothing can save
you
except
writing.
it keeps the walls
from
failing.”
― Charles Bukowski

“In my next life I want to be a cat. To sleep 20 hours a day and wait to be fed. To sit around licking my ass.”
― Charles Bukowski, The Captain is Out to Lunch and the Sailors Have Taken Over the Ship

“they thought I had guts
they were wrong
I was only frightened of
more important things”
― Charles Bukowski

“The Quiet World

In an effort to get people to look
into each other’s eyes more,
and also to appease the mutes,
the government has decided
to allot each person exactly one hundred
and sixty-seven words, per day.

When the phone rings, I put it to my ear
without saying hello. In the restaurant
I point at chicken noodle soup.
I am adjusting well to the new way.

Late at night, I call my long distance lover,
proudly say I only used fifty-nine today.
I saved the rest for you.

When she doesn’t respond,
I know she’s used up all her words,
so I slowly whisper I love you
thirty-two and a third times.
After that, we just sit on the line
and listen to each other breathe.”
― Jeffrey McDaniel, Forgiveness Parade

“Човек не може просто да върви през живота и да ръси истини – хората не са готови да чуват истини, особено за себе си.”
― Jordi Galceran, Девет пиеси

“Аз без да мисля - те обичах.
Сега те мисля - без любов.
Какъв да бъда предпочиташ:
наивник или философ?

Но всеки избор е приключен.
Аз твърде много съм ти дал –
мечтал съм да ти бъда куче,
любима книга, гривна, шал.

Да бъда винаги до тебе,
да бъбря глупости с талант...
Но онзи някой е погребан.
Спортувам и прелиствам Кант.

Лекувам с работа гнева си.
Анализирам
любовта...
Но вече дните ми са къси
и много дълга е нощта.”
― Георги Константинов, Общителен самотник

“Вече сме чужди,
достатъчно чужди -
ето: разговаряме
почти естествено!”
― Стефан Цанев

“Снощи Достоевски ми беше на гости и като прочете някои мои стихотворения, получи епилептичен припадък.”
― Константин Павлов, Записки 1970-1993

“Когато нещо се изплъзне от ръката ми
и счупи друго, по-голямо нещо,
когато задникът ми е по-хубав
на сянката върху стената, отколкото в огледалото,
когато намирам замръзнали хлебарки в хладилника
и не знам как влизат, по дяволите,
когато по-малкият ми син за пръв път набие по-големия,
когато работниците от един строеж
ми обещават да ми построят къща, ако им кажа името си,
когато стават такива работи -
не непременно лоши, но накуп -
тогава на човек му става хипермъчно
и отива на любовен филм и плаче.

Има всякакви малки начини
да излееш гнева си на определените за целта места.”
― Ина Григорова

“A poem begins with a lump in the throat; a homesickness or a love sickness. It is a reaching-out toward expression; an effort to find fulfillment. A complete poem is one where an emotion has found its thought and the thought has found words.”
― Robert Frost

“Now that I am almost never the youngest person in any room I realize that what I miss most about those times is the very thing that drove me so mad back when I was living in them. What I miss is the feeling that nothing has started yet, that the future towers over the past, that the present is merely a planning phase for the gleaming architecture that will make up the skyline of the rest of my life. But what I forget is the loneliness of all that. If everything is ahead then nothing is behind. You have no ballast. You have no tailwinds either. You hardly ever know what to do, because you’ve hardly done anything. I guess this is why wisdom is supposed to be the consolation prize of aging. It’s supposed to give us better things to do than stand around and watch in disbelief as the past casts long shadows over the future.”
― Meghan Daum

“I liked these short stories so much, but I couldn’t write like this, I didn’t have the imagination. I didn’t have any imagination at all. Everything I wrote was connected to reality and my own experiences.”
― Karl Ove Knausgård, Min kamp 5

“I was a wannabe who was actually unable to write because I had nothing to say, who wasn’t honest enough with himself to draw the appropriate conclusions and was therefore trying to get a foot in the world of literature at any cost. Not as someone who created something himself, someone who wrote and was published, but as a parasite, as someone who wrote as others wrote, a second-rater.”
― Karl Ove Knausgård, Min kamp 5

“Съзерцавах морето. Нещо ставаше в мен. Не знам точно какво: някакъв безграничен покой, усещане за осъществяване. Оттогава морето винаги си остана за мен скромна, но достатъчна метафора. Не умея да говоря за морето. Знам само, че то ме освобождава от всички задължения. Колчем го погледна, се превръщам в щастлива удавник.”
― Ромен Гари, Promise at Dawn

“Ти все нещо не харесваш.
Тези думи още повече ме натъжиха.
— Харесвам, харесвам някои неща. Разбира се, че харесвам. Не говори така. Дявол да го вземе, защо говориш така?
— Защото не харесваш. Никое училище не ти харесва. Милион неща не харесваш. Милион неща.
— Има неща, които харесвам. Ти грешиш — точно тук грешиш. За какъв дявол трябваше да казваш това? — попитах аз. Братче, колко тъжно ми стана от думите й.
— Защото нищо не харесваш — каза тя. — Кажи ми едно-едничко нещо, което харесваш.
— Едничко ли? Едничко нещо, което харесвам? — казах аз. — Е добре, ще ти кажа.
Лошото беше, че не можех много да се съсредоточа. Понякога е мъчно да се съсредоточиш.
— Значи да ти кажа едно нещо, което много харесвам, нали? — попитах аз.
Тя обаче не ми отговори. Лежеше накриво, далече — чак на другия край на леглото. Най-малко на хиляди мили от мене.
— Хайде, отговори — казах аз. — Нещо, което много ми харесва или нещо, което ей тъй, просто ми харесва?
— Дето много ти харесва.
— Е, добре — казах аз. Но лошото беше, че не можех да се съсредоточа.”
― J.D. Salinger, The Catcher in the Rye