Charles Bukowski Quotes About Morning

Quotes about: Morning

• Sometimes you climb out of bed in the morning and you think, I'm not going to make it, but you laugh inside — remembering all the times you've felt that way.

  Charles Bukowski

  Uplifting, Morning, Funny Life

  Charles Bukowski, “Gamblers All”

• I will remember the kisses our lips raw with love and how you gave me everything you had and how I offered you what was left of me, and I will remember your small room the feel of you the light in the window your records your books our morning coffee our noons our nights our bodies spilled together sleeping the tiny flowing currents immediate and forever your leg my leg your arm my arm your smile and the warmth of you who made me laugh again.

  Charles Bukowski

  Inspirational Love, Morning, Coffee

  Charles Bukowski, “Raw With Love”

• I remember awakening one morning and finding everything smeared with the color of forgotten love.

  Charles Bukowski

  Morning, Color, Awakening

• It's 4:30 in the morning, it's always 4:30 in the morning.

  Charles Bukowski

  Morning

  "Rooming House Madrigals". Book by Charles Bukowski, 1954.

• I don't remember going to bed, but in the morning, there I was.

  Charles Bukowski

  Morning, Bed, Remember

• The courage it took to get out of bed each morning to face the same things over and over was enormous.

  Charles Bukowski

  Morning, Bed, Faces

• Love is kind of like when you see a fog in the morning, when you wake up before the sun comes out. It's just a little while, and then it burns away... Love is a fog that burns with the first daylight of reality.

  Charles Bukowski

  Love, Morning, Reality

• In the morning it was morning and I was still alive.

  Charles Bukowski

  Morning, Alive, Stills

  Charles Bukowski (2011). “Post Office”, p.160, Random House

• I don't know about other people, but when I wake up in the morning and put my shoes on, I think, Jesus Christ, now what?

  Charles Bukowski

  Jesus, Morning, Thinking

• Well, people got attatched. Once you cut the umbilical cord they attatched to the other things. Sight, sound, sex, money, mirages, mothers, masturbation, murder, and Monday morning hangovers.

  Charles Bukowski

  Mother, Monday, Morning

• morning night and noon the traffic moves through and the murder and treachery of friends and lovers and all the people move through you. pain is the joy of knowing the unkindest truth that arrives without warning. life is being alone death is being alone. even the fools weep morning night and noon.

  Charles Bukowski

  Morning, Pain, Moving

• It was like a church in there as only the truly lost sit in bars on Tuesday mornings at 8:00 a.m.

  Charles Bukowski

  Morning, Tuesday, Church

  Charles Bukowski (2012). “The Pleasures of the Damned: Selected Poems 1951-1993”, p.54, Canongate Books

• soon I'll finish this 5th of Puerto Rican rum. in the morning I'll vomit and shower, drive back in, have a sandwich by 1 p.m., be back in my room by 2, stretched on the bed, waiting for the phone to ring, not answering, my holiday is an evasion, mt reasoning is not.

  Charles Bukowski

  Morning, Holiday, Phones

• we sat there smoking cigarettes at 5 in the morning.

  Charles Bukowski

  Morning, Smoking, Cigarette

  Charles Bukowski (2012). “The Pleasures of the Damned: Selected Poems 1951-1993”, p.103, Canongate Books

• little sun little moon little dog and a little to eat and a little to love and a little to live for in a little room filled with little mice who gnaw and dance and run while I sleep waiting for a little death in the middle of a little morning in a little city in a little state my little mother dead my little father dead in a little cemetery somewhere. I have only a little time to tell you this: watch out for little death when he comes running but like all the billions of little deaths it will finally mean nothing and everything: all your little tears burning like the dove, wasted.

  Charles Bukowski

  Mother, Running, Dog

  Charles Bukowski (2009). “sifting through the madness for the word, the line, the way: New Poems”, p.308, Zondervan

• ... to die on a kitchen floor at 7 o'clock in the morning while other people are frying eggs is not so rough unless it happens to you.

  Charles Bukowski

  Death, Morning, Eggs

  Charles Bukowski (2009). “Burning in Water, Drowning in Flame”, p.23, Harper Collins

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