Abe said, where do you want this killing done? God said, out on highway 61.

If you don't underestimate me, I won't underestimate you.

When you think that you lost everything you find out you can always lose a little more.

I hate myself for loving you and the weakness that it showed. You were just a painted face on a trip down to suicide road.

Come you masters of war You that build all the guns You that build the death planes You that build the big bombs You that hide behind walls You that hide behind desks I just want you to know I can see through your masks.

Peace will come With tranquility and splendor on the wheels of fire But will bring us no reward when her false idols fall.

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.