"Understand me. I’m not like an ordinary world. I have my madness, I live in another dimension and I do not have time for things that have no soul."
"I should think that many of our poets, the honest ones, will confess to having no manifesto. It is a painful confession but the art of poetry carries its own powers without having to break them down into critical listings. I do not mean that poetry should be raffish and irresponsible clown tossing off words into the void. But the very feeling of a good poem carries its own reason for being... Art is its own excuse, and it’s either Art or it’s something else. It’s either a poem or a piece of cheese."
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Source: Charles Bukowski (2015). “On Writing”, p.26, Canongate Books
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