“How many times can a man turn his head, and pretend that he just doesn’t see?”

Behind every beautiful thing, there’s some kind of pain.

I became interested in folk music because I had to make it somehow.

We have never arrived. We are in a constant state of becoming.

May you always be courageous, stand upright and be strong, may you stay forever young.

Democracy don’t rule the world, You’d better get that in your head; This world is ruled by violence, But I guess that’s better left unsaid.

You always got to be prepared but you never know for what.

They say that patriotism is the last refuge to which a scoundrel clings steal a little and they throw you in jail. Steal a lot and then they make you king.

The picture you have in your mind of what you’re about will come true.

Adulterers in churches and pornography in the schools, you got gangsters in power and lawbreakers making rules. When you gonna wake up?

Don’t criticize what you can’t understand.

This land is your land and this land is my land, sure, but the world is run by those that never listen to music anyway.

Everybody’s wearing a disguise, to hide what they’ve got left behind their eyes.

Peace is the time it takes to reload your rifle.

The real power is in the hands of small groups of people and I don’t think they have titles.

People seldom do what they believe in. They do what is convenient, then repent.

Your mind is a your temple, keep it beautiful and free. Don’t let an egg get laid in it by something you can’t see.

These guys talk when I’m injured, but when I’m healthy, where are these guys? Tony or Conor, it doesn’t matter. Or maybe they’re going to fight it each other? It doesn’t matter.

With empty hands men may no hauks lure.

Meanwhile the Adversary of God and man, Satan with thoughts inflamed of highest design, Puts on swift wings, and towards the gates of hell Explores his solitary flight.

When I’m gone I’ll be remembered as the workin’ man who put his point across with a right hand full of knuckles.

The world owes all its onward impulses to men ill at ease. The happy man inevitably confines himself within ancient limits.

I do not love a man, except I hate his vices, because those vices are the enemies, and the destruction of that friend whom I love.

Men love newfangleness.

She said that these were things all women knew yet seldom spoke of. Lastly she said that if women were drawn to rash men it was only that in their secret hearts they knew that a man who would not kill for them was of no use at all.