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.

To preach of peace and brotherhood, oh what might be the cost? A man he did it long ago, and they hung him on a cross.

People have a hard time accepting anything that overwhelms them.

I'm a liberal to a degree, I want everybody to be free. But if you think that I'll let Barry Goldwater move in next door.

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.

And I'll know my song well before I start singing

I'm inconsistent, even to myself.