Best 9 quotes in «60s quotes» category

I was always fishing for something on the radio. Just like trains and bells, it was part of the soundtrack of my life. I moved the dial up and down and Roy Orbison's voice came blasting out of the small speakers. His new song, "Running Scared," exploded into the room. Orbison, though, transcended all the genres - folk, country, rock and roll or just about anything. His stuff mixed all the styles and some that hadn't even been invented yet. He could sound mean and nasty on one line and then sing in a falsetto voice like Frankie Valli in the next. With Roy, you didn't know if you were listening to mariachi or opera. He kept you on your toes. With him, it was all about fat and blood. He sounded like he was singing from an Olympian mountaintop and he meant business. One of his previous songs, "Ooby Dooby" was deceptively simple, but Roy had progressed. He was now singing his compositions in three or four octaves that made you want to drive your car over a cliff. He sang like a professional criminal. Typically, he'd start out in some low, barely audible range, stay there a while and then astonishingly slip into histrionics. His voice could jar a corpse, always leave you muttring to yourself something like, "Man, I don't believe it." His songs had songs within songs. They shifted from major to minor key without any logic. Orbison was deadly serious - no pollywog and no fledgling juvenile. There wasn't anything else on the radio like him.

All I can say is, it's a good thing we didn't win the revolution [laughter]. We would've ended up with people like Abie Hoffman and Eldridge Cleaver at the helm; we would've been in big trouble. Big trouble. It would've been such a Stalinist purge ... All those people that were the top names in those movements back then were all egotistical assholes, it turned out, every single one of them [laughter].

Querían pelexar e vencer. Querían loitar, conquista-la súa felicidade. Pero, ¿como loitar? ¿Contra quen? ¿Contra que? Vivían nun mundo estraño e irisado, o universo reverberante da civilización mercantil, os cárceres da abundancia, as trampas fascinantes da felicidade.

Pero nestes tempos e nestas latitudes, cada vez hai máis xente que non é rica nin pobre: soñan coa riqueza e poderían facerse ricos: é aí onde empezan as súas desgracias.

When people ask me what L.A. was like in the sixties, I tell them there wasn't as much terrible stucco as there is today: no mini malls with their approximation of Spanish two-story buildings, no oversized SUVs bulging out of parking-space lines. What used to say "Spanish-style" is now something diseased looking. Nobody seems to know how to stucco anymore.

The children of the 1960's that you call the 'Manson Family' wanted to stop a war and turn the government and world to peace. They gave their lives when they took lives and they knew it.

Sometimes Karl, you have to realize your weeknesses and be willing to discuss them with adults.

When the hippie era ended and the hangover began, as idealism gives way to disillusionment, the hair of the marchers and street-dancers kept getting longer, and soon it began to tangle. Free love deteriorated into loveless promiscuity, our great electric Kool-Aid acid test churned out an entire generation of burnt-out old relics, and the hair, once a symbol of freedom, became symbolic of the new face of prison, a lawlessness which taken to its logical extreme would imprison all of society as our growing criminal element took to the streets.

You know, the guys there were so beautiful—they've lost that wounded look that fags all had 10 years ago.