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.

Crimson flames tied through my ears Rollin' high and mighty traps Pounced with fire on flaming roads Using ideas as my maps "We'll meet on edges, soon," said I Proud 'neath heated brow. Ah, but I was so much older then, I'm younger than that now. Half-wracked prejudice leaped forth "Rip down all hate," I screamed Lies that life is black and white Spoke from my skull. I dreamed Romantic facts of musketeers Foundationed deep, somehow. Ah, but I was so much older then, I'm younger than that now.

In the dime stores and bus stations, people talk of situations, read books, repeat quotations, draw conclusions on the wall.

If you need somebody you can trust, trust yourself

Experience teaches us that silence terrifies people the most.

In harmony with cosmic sea, true love needs no company. It can cure the soul, it can make it whole, if dogs run free.

She's a hypnotist collector; you are a walking antique.