How many times must a man look up Before he can see the sky? Yes, 'n' how many ears must one man have Before he can hear people cry? Yes, 'n' how many deaths will it take till he knows That too many people have died? The answer, my friend, is blowin' in the wind, The answer is blowin' in the wind.

I feel like falling in love with the first woman I meet, putting her in a wheel-barrow and wheeling her down the street.

I don't know if I call myself a poet or not. I would like to, but I'm not really qualified to make that decision, because I come in on such a back door, that I don't know what a Robert Frost or a [John] Keats or a T.S. Eliot would really think of my stuff.

Come writers and critics Who prophesize with your pen And keep your eyes wide The chance won't come again And don't speak too soon For the wheel's still in spin And there's no tellin' who That it's namin' For the loser now Will be later to win For the times they are a-changin'.

Sundown, yellow moon, I replay the past I know every scene by heart, they all went by so fast

"Like a Rolling Stone" [of Bob Dylan] is a kiss-off song like none before or since.

A lot of people don't have much food on their table. But they got a lot of forks 'n knives. And they got to cut somethin'.