Pavisam aizmirsu pie iepriekšējā raksta pievienot vienu ļoti svarīgu citātu no kādas man mīļas Boba Dilana dziesmas, par to, kā daži no minētajiem albumiem man liek justies:
Then she opened up a book of poems
And handed it to me
Written by an Italian poet
From the thirteenth century.
And every one of them words rang true
And glowed like burnin’ coal
Pourin’ off of every page
Like it was written in my soul from me to you