Just in time for Bob Dylan to recoil from the attention, leave the city for Woodstock, and turn his back on fame.

My songs were influenced not so much by poetry on the page but by poetry being recited by the poets who recited poems with jazz bands.

I took her by the hand and my heart it was thumpin'. When she said, hey man, you crazy or somethin'?

It's not easy to define poetry.

Mama, put my guns in the ground, I can't shoot them anymore. That long black cloud is coming down.

You have to know that you're the best whether anybody else tells you that or not. And that you'll be around, in one way or another, longer than anybody else. Somewhere inside of you, you have to believe that.

The hollow horn plays wasted words, proves to warn that he not busy being born is busy dying.