The final story, the final chapter of Western man, I believe, lies in Los Angeles.
A protest song is a song that's so specific that you cannot mistake it for bullshit.
In such ugly times, the only true protest is beauty.
You can do right or you can do what you are told. And the prize of the victory will belong to the bold.
I can spare a dime, brother, but in these morally inflationary times, a dime goes a lot farther if it's demanding work rather than adding to the indignity of relief.
Beneath the greatest love lies a hurricane of hate.