A song is like a dream, and you try to make it come true. They're like strange countries that you have to enter.

I don't think I'm tangible to myself.

The woman I love she got a prize fighter nose, cauliflower ears and a run in her hose.

Popular music had never had lyrical sophistication of this type [like Bob Dylan]; wit, to be sure, but "Darkness at the break of noon/Shadows even the silver spoon/The handmade blade, the child's balloon/Eclipses both the sun and moon/To understand you know too soon/ There is no sense in trying"? No.

We're living in times where men commit crimes and crime don't have a face.

I change during the course of a day. I wake and I'm one person, and when I go to sleep I know for certain I'm somebody else.

There would be brilliant songs, but, as [Bob] Dylan admitted on the recent Martin Scorsese documentary about him (No Direction Home), the specific muse that inspired "It's Alright Ma" would not return.