I can never drive my car over a bridge without thinking of suicide. I can never look at a lake or an ocean without thinking of suicide.
Charles BukowskiRead
What? You’d dare drink right after getting out of jail for intoxication?” That’s when you need a drink the most.
Interpretation
The quote reflects the idea that people often turn to substances in times of distress or after facing consequences.
In this quote, Charles Bukowski highlights the paradoxical nature of human behavior, suggesting that individuals may seek out indulgence or escape, such as drinking alcohol, especially after experiencing hardships or previously facing the consequences of their actions. It speaks to the struggles and contradictions of coping mechanisms in life, particularly in moments of vulnerability.
In practice
During a discussion on addiction recovery, this quote could serve to illustrate the emotional struggles people face.
I can never drive my car over a bridge without thinking of suicide. I can never look at a lake or an ocean without thinking of suicide.
when I am feeling low all i have to do is watch my cats and my courage returns
The masses are always wrong...Wisdom is doing everything the crowd does not do. All you do is reverse the totality of their learning and you have the heaven they're looking for.
I'm going to open another vottle. not a vottle, but a bottle. you open it and I'll drink it. and you try to write as much as I did without falling off of your chair.
To experience real agony is something hard to write about, impossible to understand while it grips you; you're frightened out of your wits, can’t sit still, move, or even go decently insane.
I lapsed into my pathetic cut-off period. Often with humans, both good and bad, my senses simply shut off, they get tired, I give up. I am polite. I nod. I pretend to understand because I don’t want anybody to be hurt. That is the one weakness that has lead me into the most trouble. Trying to be kind to others I often get my soul shredded into a kind of spiritual pasta. No matter. My brain shuts off. I listen. I respond. And they are too dumb to know that I am not there.
She takes another long haul, lets the smoke settle in her lungs-- she has heard somewhere that cigarettes are good for grief. One long drag and you forget how to cry. The body too busy dealing with the poison.
Pull up a chair. Take a taste. Come join us. Life is so endlessly delicious.
If 'Life in Marvelous Times' can't get on the radio, then I don't need to be on the radio.
So that's what I'm here to become. And suddenly, this word fills me with a brand of sadness I haven't felt since childhood. The kind of sadness you feel at the end of summer. When the fireflies are gone, the ponds have dried up and the plants are wilted, weary from being so green.
joy and sorrow are inseparable. . . together they come and when one sits alone with you . . remember that the other is asleep upon your bed.
My story starts with my dad, a black boy born to a single mother in a small town in North Carolina. It starts with my parents meeting in Washington, D.C., in the '60s, at a time of incredible activism.
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