Quotes from Bob Dylan

Yes, to dance beneath the diamond sky with one hand waving free Silhouetted by the sea, circled by the circus sands With all memory and fate driven deep beneath the waves Let me forget about today until tomorrow

A song is anything that can walk by itself.

The highest purpose of art is to inspire.

I like to stay a part of that stuff that don't change. Actually, it's not that difficult - people still love and they still hate, they still marry and have children, still slaves in their minds to their desires, still slap each other in the face, and say 'honey can you turn off the light' just like they did in ancient Greece. What's changed? When did Abraham break his father's idols? I think it was last Tuesday.

I didn't feel the need to examine every stranger that approached.

The inside story on a man was that if he wanted to be successful, he must become a rugged individualist, but then should make some adjustments.

Your debutante just knows what you need, but I know what you want.

My songs aren't dreams. They're more of a responsive nature… To me, when you need them, they appear. Your life doesn't have to be in turmoil to write a song like that but you need to be outside of it. That's why a lot of people, me myself included, write songs when one form or another of society has rejected you. So that you can truly write about it from the outside. Someone who's never been out there can only imagine it as anything, really.

And here I sit so patiently Waiting to find out what price You have to pay to get out of Going through all these things twice. From Stuck Inside Of Mobile With The Memphis Blues Again

I've heard newborn babies wailin' like a mournin' dove And old men with broken teeth stranded without love Do I understand your question, man, is it hopeless and forlorn Come in, she said I'll give ya shelter from the storm

I thought I had seen a face like Sun Pie's before but couldn't remember just where. He had an unusual way of talking…slow but with slam bang action words.

There was a missing person inside of myself and I needed to find him.

It's one of those songs that makes a good record but it's too much work to make it believable in live performance.

No reason to get excited The thief, he kindly spoke There are many here among us Who feel that life is but a joke But you and I, we've been through that And this is not our fate So let us not talk falsely now The hour is getting late

I asked the guy who made the sound effects for the radio shows how he got the sound of the electric chair and he said it was bacon sizzling. What about broken bones? The guy took out a LifeSaver and crushed it between his teeth.

Steal a little and they throw you in jail. Steal a lot and they make you king.

After Lou heard my Guthrie song, he asked me if I ever wrote any songs about baseball players.

I don't expect politicians to solve anybody's problems. We've got to take the world by the horns and solve our own problems. The world owes us nothing, each and every one of us, the world owes us not one single thing. Politicians or whoever.

It was a strange world ahead that would unfold, a thunderhead of a world with jagged lightning edges. Many got it wrong and never did get it right. I went straight into it. It was wide open. One thing for sure, not only was it not run by God, but it wasn't run by the devil either.

Life isn't about finding yourself, or finding anything. Life is about creating yourself. And creating things.

Every man's conscience is vile and depraved, you cannot depend on it to be your guide when it's you who must keep it satisfied

Oh, sister, am I not a brother to you And one deserving of affection? And is our purpose not the same on this earth To love and follow his direction? ... Oh, sister, when I come to knock on your door Don't turn away, you'll create sorrow Time is an ocean but it ends at the shore You may not see me tomorrow

Now, I want you to know that while we watched You discover there was no one true Most ev'rybody really thought It was a childish thing to do Tears of rage, tears of grief Must I always be the thief? Come to me now, you know We're so low And life is brief

Send them all my salary On the waters of oblivion Too much of nothing Can turn a man into a liar It can cause one man to sleep on nails And another man to eat fire Ev'rybody's doin' somethin' I heard it in a dream But when there's too much of nothing It just makes a fella mean