Charles Bukowski Quotes About Mothers

Quotes about: Mothers

• 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

• The trouble with these people is that their cities have never been bombed and their mothers have never been told to shut up.

  Charles Bukowski

  Mother, Cities, People

• my mother, poor fish, wanting to be happy, beaten two or three times a week, telling me to be happy: "Henry, smile! why don't you ever smile?" and then she would smile, to show me how, and it was the saddest smile I ever saw

  Charles Bukowski

  Mother, Two, Three

  Charles Bukowski (2012). “The Pleasures of the Damned: Selected Poems 1951-1993”, p.15, Canongate Books

• ..few writers like other writers' works. The only time they like them is when they are dead or if they have been for a long time. Writers only like to sniff their own turds. I am one of those. I don't even like to talk to writers, look at them or worse, listen to them. And the worst is to drink with them, they slobber all over themselves, really look piteous, look like they are searching for the wing of the mother. I'd rather think about death than about other writers. Far more pleasant.

  Charles Bukowski

  Mother, Thinking, Wings

• 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

• It was hard for me to believe. When recess was over I sat in class and thought about it. My mother had a hole and my father had a dong that shot juice. How could they have things like that and walk around as if everything was normal, and talk about things, and then do it and not tell anybody?

  Charles Bukowski

  Mother, Father, Believe

  Charles Bukowski (2001). “Ham On Rye”, p.51, Canongate Books

• I didn't like anybody in that school. I think they knew that. I think that's why they disliked me. I didn't like the way they walked or looked or talked, but I didn't like my mother or father either. I still had the feeling of being surrounded by white empty space. There was always a slight nausea in my stomach.

  Charles Bukowski

  Mother, Father, School

  Charles Bukowski (2001). “Ham On Rye”, p.83, Canongate Books

• Daddy,' my mother asked, 'aren’t we going to run out of gas?' No there’s plenty of god-damned gas.' Where are we going?' I’m going to get some god-damed oranges!

  Charles Bukowski

  Mother, Running, Orange

• I could see the road ahead of me. I was poor and I was going to stay poor. But I didn't particularly want money. I didn't know what I wanted. Yes, I did. I wanted someplace to hide out, someplace where one didn't have to do anything. The thought of being something didn't only appall me, it sickened me . . . To do things, to be part of family picnics, Christmas, the 4th of July, Labor Day, Mother's Day . . . was a man born just to endure those things and then die? I would rather be a dishwasher, return alone to a tiny room and drink myself to sleep.

  Charles Bukowski

  Mother, 4th Of July, Sleep

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