hen you’re in your third adulthood, the one that leads to the grave, and you ask yourself, “What will I do between now and then?” Instead of thinking in terms of glamour, you start thinking in terms of reform – your contribution to the world.
Some say love it is a river that drowns the tender reeds. Some say love, it is a razor that leaves your heart to bleed. Some say love, it is a hunger, an endless aching need. I say love, it is a flower and you, its only seed.
I tried to charm the pants off Bob Dylan, but everyone will be disappointed to learn that I was unsuccessful. I got close – a couple of fast feels in the front seat of a Cadillac.
In a marriage, you struggle and struggle and struggle, and then you realize that you have to ride the horse in the direction it’s going. You stop trying to pull the reins in another direction.
If someone were to say seriously, “I’m divine,” she’d have to be locked up. There are lots of people in mental institutions going around saying “I’m God.” But because I’m funny about it, they haven’t locked me up yet. And I don’t give myself airs, either.
It’s a different world now: Stars come and go quickly, and there are so many of them. I read a statistic that all the record companies combined used to put out around 3,000 albums in a year. Now they put out something like 30,000!
