You know Bob Dylan—the guy born to a Jewish family in Duluth, Minnesota, in 1941.

His birth name was Robert Zimmerman, and he spent his childhood around the Gopher State’s iron ore mines.

He taught himself a few instruments, enrolled at the University of Minnesota, and duly dropped out.

From there, he landed in New York City and started to make a name for himself in the folk music scene.

He wasn’t the best guitarist. Or pianist. His vocals were nasal, even annoying. And the wretched harmonica…

Dylan was complex—perhaps even cantankerous. He could be prickly with the media, and marital discord seemed all but guaranteed. For a time, he dabbled in Evangelical Christianity, alienating even his most ardent supporters.

But the dude could think—and write.

Proof lies in his catalog, now 40 studio albums and over 600 songs deep.

In recent years, that catalog has landed nine figures for publishing rights and another nine figures for the recordings.

Along the way, Dylan has inspired two Martin Scorsese documentaries and a book by a Harvard classics professor comparing him to Homer and Virgil.

In 2016, he won the Nobel Prize in Literature.

Comfortably into his 80s, Dylan continues to tour, and audiences continue to listen.

But, you might ask yourself, why?

What in his work warrants such reverence?

Here’s a brief sampling.

To get it, you have to listen—really listen—and then make of the words what you will.

“A Hard Rain’s A-Gonna Fall” (1963)

And what’ll you do now, my blue-eyed son?

And what’ll you do now, my darling young one?

I’m a-goin’ back out ‘fore the rain starts a-fallin’

I’ll walk to the depths of the deepest black forest

Where the people are many and their hands are all empty

Where the pellets of poison are flooding their waters

Where the home in the valley meets the damp dirty prison

And the executioner’s face is always well hidden

Where hunger is ugly, where the souls are forgotten

Where black is the color, where none is the number

And I’ll tell it and speak it and think it and breathe it

And reflect it from the mountain so all souls can see it

Then I’ll stand on the ocean until I start sinkin’

But I’ll know my song well before I start singin’

And it’s a hard, it’s a hard, it’s a hard, and it’s a hard

It’s a hard rain’s a-gonna fall

“Blowin’ in the Wind” (1963)

Yes, ‘n’ how many times must a man look up

Before he can see the sky?

Yes, ‘n’ how many ears must one man have

Before he can hear people cry?

Yes, ‘n’ how many deaths will it take till he knows

That too many people have died?

The answer, my friend, is blowin’ in the wind

The answer is blowin’ in the wind

“The Times They Are A-Changin'” (1965)

Come mothers and fathers

Throughout the land

And don’t criticize

What you can’t understand

Your sons and your daughters

Are beyond your command

Your old road is rapidly agin’

Please get out of the new one if you can’t lend your hand

For the times they are a-changin’

“Political World” (1990)

We live in a political world

Where mercy walks the plank

Life is in mirrors, death disappears

Up the steps into the nearest bank

“Pay in Blood” (2012)

A-low cards are what I’ve got

But I’ll play this hand whether I like it or not

I’m sworn to uphold the laws of God

You can put me out in front of a firin’ squad

I been out and around with the risin’ men

Just like you, my handsome friend

My head’s so hard, must be made of stone

I pay in blood but not my own

Sure, Bob Dylan never came up with girl, you looks good, won’t you back that azz up.

But he’s done alright.

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