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.

God knows there's a heaven.

I think a poet is anybody who wouldn't call himself a poet.

May you stay Forever Young

Don't forget to support your public library.

Truth is an arrow and the gate is narrow that it passes through.

Nothing can affect my voice, it's so bad.