In 1975,Bob Dylan was almost 10 years past his prime - and then he released the best album of his career, Blood on the Tracks. Written and recorded amid a painful divorce, Blood on the Tracks is proof that heartbreak makes great art - just as many of the albums that followed were the opposite.
The purpose of art is to stop time.
In this age of fiberglass, I'm searching for a gem.
Art is the perpetual motion of illusion. The highest purpose of art is to inspire. What else can you do? What else can you do for any one but inspire them?
The dirt of gossip blows into my face and the dust rumors cover me. But if the arrow is straight and the point is slick, it can pierce through dust no matter how thick.
Don't know which one is worse, doing your own thing or just being cool.
Everybody's wearing a disguise, to hide what they've got left behind their eyes.
The good Samaritan, he's getting dressed, he's getting ready for the show. He's going to the carnival tonight on Desolation Row.
Fortune or fame, you must pick one or the other, though neither of them are to be what they claim.
They self-inflict punishment on their own broken lives, put their faith in their possessions, in their jobs, or their wives.
Too much information about nothing.
Jewels and binoculars hang from the head of the mule.
Trying to create a next world war, he found a promoter who nearly fell off the floor, he said I never engaged in this kind of thing before, but yes I think it can be very easily done.
Everything in New Orleans is a good idea. Bijou temple-type cottages and lyric cathedrals side by side. Houses and mansions, structures of wild grace. Italianate, Gothic, Romanesque, Greek Revival standing in a long line in the rain. Roman Catholic art. Sweeping front porches, turrets, cast-iron balconies, colonnades- 30-foot columns, gloriously beautiful- double pitched roofs, all the architecture of the whole wide world and it doesn't move.
Obscenity, who really cares. Propaganda, all is phony.
You shouldn't let other people get your kicks for you.
Anger and jealousy's all that he sells us, he's content when you're under his thumb. Madmen oppose him, but your kindness throws him, to survive it you play deaf and dumb.
Some are masters of illusions, some are ministers of trade, all under the same delusion, all their beds unmade.
You'll find out when you reach the top, you're on the bottom.
Disillusioned words like bullets bark as human gods aim for their mark.
Someone showed me a picture and I just laughed, dignity never been photographed.
Art can lead you to God. I think that's the purpose of everything. If it's not doing that, what's it doing? It's leading you the other way. It's certainly not leading you nowhere.
Art is a never-ending dance of illusions.
I've been sitting down studying the Art of Love. I think it will fit me like a glove.
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