No reason to get excited,' the thief, he kindly spoke, There are many here among us who feel that life is but a joke.

My songs always sound a lot better in person than they do on the record.

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

My big fear was that my guitar would go out of tune.

I was lingering out on the pavement. There was a missing person inside of myself and I needed to find him . . . I felt done for, an empty burned-out wreck . . . Wherever I am, I'm a '60s troubadour, a folk-rock relic, a wordsmith from bygone days, a fictitious head of state from a place nobody knows.

Obscenity, who really cares. Propaganda, all is phony.

If I made records for my own pleasure, I would only record Charley Patton songs.