My father probably thought the capital of the world was wherever he was at the time. It couldn't possibly be anyplace else. Where he and his wife were in their own home, that, for them, was the capital of the world.

Really the truth is just a plain picture. A plain picture of, let's say, a tramp vomiting in the sewere. You know, and next door to the picture Mr. Rockefeller or Mr. C. W. Jones on the subway going to work. You know, any kind of picture. Just make a collage of pictures.

You had no faith to lose and you know it.

With great lawyers you have discussed lepers and crooks, you've been through all of F. Scott Fitzgerald's books.

Everyone of them words rang true and glowed like burning coal, pouring off every page like it was written in my soul from me to you.

The times are a-changing and if we don't we will sink like a stone.

I'd been going though his trash. He knocked me down. I was glad to see him, even though he was banging my head against the sidewalk. Afterwards these bums come over and say, 'Did he get much money?' I say, 'Money'? That was Bob Dylan.