That heart of gold he's searching for—that heart of gold I'm searching for—that h. of g. you're looking for—it's not some other person. It's me—it's you—it's Neil Young—it's the heart of gold inside. The untapped vein. I know it's here somewhere.

For me to like a record it has to scratch the back of my brain (never mind the front, I can reach that myself)—it has to touch my heart—and it has to move my blood. That's all.

I like this record….

For me to like a record it has to speak to me, personally, from inside, in such a way as no mere hunk of plastic can, sweat of human brow is not enough, you got to speak for me, you got to speak for me stuff I can't verbalize myself, "it's these expressions I never give," you got to give them for me to call yourself an artist, you got to give them with me, nothing less will do….

Neil Young has learned a lot about love since we saw him last…. (p. 60)

[Harvest is] just a record about how hard it is to love. Hard because of who I am, not who everyone else is. "See the lonely boy, out on the weekend …" It ain't a plea for sex. It's a plea for salvation.

A plea to the gods. Women or men can't save us now. (Can't even imagine the perfect mate any more, now that you've met her—him—and run away.) We must save ourselves.

Help.

But it's all about men and women. Right on. It's the only story I know, the broken heart, don't try to sell me no mystic enlightenment. Will I only harvest some? Yeah, but a little more each year. Deeper sorrow and greater joy. And there's no turning back. I've been loving you too long to stop now.

This album is about the pain of becoming increasingly conscious. As we go through life we either fall asleep—die—freeze in position—or we keep on going and it just gets rougher and we find out a lot of things we never wanted to know. Awareness is pain. But every junkie's like the setting sun. I mean, some of us are just too proud to die.

"I sing the song because I love the man. I know that some of you don't understand."

Neil (you) (me) complains that he can't love, doesn't know how, but his real problem is that he can't stop loving. (pp. 61-2)

Harvest as a whole is not as fine as After the Gold Rush—Gold Rush had a wholeness, a depth of character that took a while to get to know, and takes almost forever to get tired of … Harvest in many ways is just Neil Young's new album. Okay. But a little overdone….

Some of the songs are overworked—"There's A World" has been cooked to a veritable pulp—vegetables are better a little on the raw side. The album for all its soul and beauty lacks the cold steel ring of utter necessity, it was made by a bunch of rich dudes, the singer sounds desolate but rather well-fed, only the songwriter/composer still seems absolutely alive. (p. 62)

"Words. Words. Between the lines of age." It's hard to make this change. This collection of songs contains some great work by a man whose stature on the century scene increases by the moment. Neil Young distrusted fame and made loud puzzled looks at his audience ("Hello Mr. Soul" "Out Of My Mind" "Broken Arrow") long before he had the misfortune to sell a million records. Our hopes and fears are always the same things (we're afraid of what we want; we want what we're afraid of) and we make them manifest (i.e: songs of fear of fame strike a common chord and achieve much success).

Oh Lord I sympathize with this singer so much. He's me. That's why I love this record.

It's also why I hate it at times. Too flawed. It's hard to make this change. Oh why can't I just love me with all my heart? Because then nobody else would. Okay. (pp. 62-3)

This is an album about how hard it is to be loved. The singer never speaks of loving in the active sense (the most he offers is to "fill your cup with the promise of a man"), at times he'd like to give up the struggle ("A Man Needs A Maid"), but he knows what he wants ("I need someone to love me the whole day through"). ("Just one look in my eyes and you can tell that's true.") (I wonder.)

So again it's the theme of "Hello Mr. Soul" (what am I going to do with these women?) and "I Am A Child" (look how helpless and pretty I am, please love me)….

But maybe the great realization that you made yourself love me (and what can I offer you but faith?) must always be followed by the even greater, far less pretty realization that I made you love me in the sense that I asked for it—even knowing I couldn't accept it—and even as I'm running down the road away I'm still asking for it, still need love and want to live up to what you see in me but baby I've got to escape. I'm sorry…. (p. 63)

And the fine line that keeps us searching is ultimately what I want to call your attention to, it's the line between good and evil, the line between sky and sea, the thin edge on which we walk over the infinite, belief in ourselves, it's the fine line of faith in the face of doubt, god bless us all who continue to dare to love. (p. 64)