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Then was I as a tree/ Whose boughs did bend with fruit. But in one night,/ A storm, or robbery, call it what you will,/ Shook down my mellow hangings, nay, my leaves,/ And left me bare to weather.
Cymbeline
Don’t tell me what my responsibility is. I’m an artist. My responsibility is to write songs that express what I feel. I don’t work for you, I don’t think for you, and I don’t belong to anybody.
Bob Dylan
