No one is free, even the birds are chained to the sky.
Whenever anybody does something in a big way, it's always rejected at home and accepted someplace else.
You don't need a weatherman to know which way the wind blows.
I'm not a folk-singer. I just sing a certain place.
The exploitation and superficiality of mainstream America is the object not of [Bob] Dylan's hipster scorn, but of an apocalyptic parable of holy fools and righteous thieves - the kind of imagery that Dylan's later work would explore more fully.
Bob Dylan wrote in his elliptical memoir, Chronicles: Volume One, he was washed up in the 1980s, no longer a commercial success, and no longer putting out good work.