I began to realise that we are all oppressed which is why I would like to do something about it, though I’m not sure where my place is.
Am I crazy or am I a genius? I don’t think I’m either.
Happiness is a warm gun.
My original idea for the cover was better – decapitate Paul – but he wouldn’t go along with it.
Imagine there’s no heaven, it’s easy if you try. No hell below us, above us only sky. Imagine all the people living for today...
Mother, you had me, but I never had you.
I keep on reading the Morning Star newspaper to see if there’s any hope, but it seems to be in the 19th century; it seems to be written for dropped-out, middle-aged liberals.
Living is easy with eyes closed Misunderstanding all you see It’s getting hard to be someone but it all works out It doesn’t matter much to me.
It’s just natural, it’s not a great disaster. People keep talking about it like it’s The End of The Earth. It’s only a rock group that split up, it’s nothing important. You know, you have all the old records there if you want to reminisce.
It’s amazing how low you go to get high.
I think it’s false, shallow, to be giving to others when your own need is great. The idea is not to comfort people, not to make them feel better but to make them feel worse, to constantly put before them the degradations and humiliations they go through to get what they call a living wage.
Control yourself. You’ll spurt.
Without Jimmy Dean, the Beatles never would have existed.
Mahatma Gandhi and Martin Luther King are great examples of fantastic nonviolents who died violently. I can never work that out. We’re pacifists, but I’m not sure what it means when you’re such a pacifist that you get shot. I can never understand that.
Nothing you can know that isn’t known Nothing you can see that isn’t shown Nowhere you can be that isn’t where you’re meant to be It’s easy.
All the revolutions have happened when a Fidel or Marx or Lenin or whatever, who were intellectuals, were able to get through to the workers. They got a good pocket of people together and the workers seemed to understand that they were in a repressed state.
Leave a space and something will fill it.
I started being me about the songs, not writing objectively, but subjectively. I think it was Dylan who helped me realize that – not by any discussion or anything, but by hearing his work.
The dream is over. I gotta get down to reality. The good old days are garbage.
I don’t miss it. I’m glad it happened, but I don’t miss it.