Charles Bukowski Quotes

There is no pain equal to that which two lovers can inflict on one another.

We made mad love shadow love random love and abandoned love. Accidentally like a martyr. The hurt gets worse, and the heart gets harder.

The loss of young first love is so painful that it borders on the ludicrous.

I was in love once. It was terrible.

As painful as this thing has been I just can't be with no one else. See I know what we've got to do. You let go, and I'll let go too. 'Cause no one's hurt me more than you And no one ever will.

Love is a popular romantic notion that leads to nothing but its own brand of misery.

Must being in love always mean being in pain?

I don't particularly believe all love is doomed. But I guess, one is usually kinda suffering from some aborted love affair or association, rather than being at the peak of one. I think it's fairly obvious that a lot more suffering goes on in the name of love than the little happiness you can squeeze out of it.

I'm a romantic fool. I always end up getting hurt.

My heart's in my hand, and my hand is pierced, and my hand's in the bag, and the bag is shut, and my heart is caught.

That’s why it was so impossible to tell him goodbye — because I was in love with him. Too. I loved him, much more than I should, and yet, still nowhere near enough. I was in love with him, but it was not enough to change anything; it was only enough to hurt us both more. To hurt him worse than I ever had.

Love is hard, harder than steel and thrice as cruel. It is inexorable as the tides, and life and death alike follow in its wake.

It hurts to love. It's like giving yourself to be flayed and knowing that at any moment the other person may just walk off with your skin.

Never love with all your heart, It only ends in aching.

November Rain is a song about not wanting to be in a state of having to deal with unrequited love.

I've been in love. It's painful and pointless and overrated.

I must, then, repeat continually that we are forever sundered - and yet, while I breathe and think, I must love him.' - Jane Eyre

And then there was him, the long and painful love of her life.

Was this love? Because it hurt. It was like a bit of glass stuck somewhere important--his heart or his head, and it was throbbing.

They say that true love hurts, well this could almost kill me young love murder, that is what this must be I would give it all to not be sleeping alone

But in the end, fighting for a love that was already gone felt like trying to live in the ruins of a lost city.

The American humorist sat on his couch suffering thoughts of her, trying to figure out how to win back her affections, wondering what had happened between them or just tumbling head-over-heels down into romantic oblivion where the image of a remembered kiss provokes bottomless despair and makes death seem like the right idea.He experienced the basics of love ended.

I want to believe you, but if that's true, I just don't get it. Why does loving somebody mean you have to hurt them just as much? I mean, if that's the way it goes, what's the point of loving someone?

Love is cruel as the grave.