Women (Bukowski)

There is a problem with writers. If what a writer wrote was published and
sold many, many copies, the writer thought he was great. If what a writer wrote
was published and sold a medium number of copies, the writer thought he was
great. If what a writer wrote was published and sold very few copies, the writer
thought he was great. If what the writer wrote never was published and he didn't
have enough the money to publish it himself, then he thought he was truly great.
The truth, however, was there was very little greatness. It was almost
nonexistent, invisible. But you could be sure that the worst writers had the
most confidence, the least self-doubt....I foresaw future problems: as a recluse
I couldn't bear traffic. It had nothing to do with jealousy, I simply dislike
people, crowds, anywhere, except at my readings. People diminished me, they
sucked me dry.