“What’s outside my head and what’s inside my head aren’t worth mentioning. What’s worth mentioning is what’s on my head – my hair. Whatever happens, I’ll still be as fashionably coiffed as I was before the war broke out and I got dementia.”

“The lampshade on my head is for my bright ideas. I won't be able to convey them until Monday, when my curtain gets out of the dry cleaners.”

“I don’t believe in a lot of phenomena that fall under the term ‘parapsychology.’ Especially that one branch, psychology. You’re going to tell me there’s something inside my head, controlling me?”

“You never really know what’s going on inside Tony Iommi’s head. He’s the total opposite of me, in other words: no one’s ever in any doubt about what’s going on in the pile of old jelly inside my thick skull.”

“Even if it means I have to run off and live in the wild caves with a bag over my head, I still want to know what’s going on. I need to know.”

“What’s next to my bed? One night stand, though personally I find them morally outrageous, not to mention the danger from STDs.”

“What’s up?” I said.“Nothing.”“I mean what’s wrong?”“My leg is broken.”“Yeah, I noticed.”