The skull is nature’s sculpture.

He had a skull and crossbones label on him, but I drank his poison nevertheless and loved it; now I needed an antidote.

I love when my cat crushes his forehead into mine like my skull is an empty beer can. But it’s not—there’s still a sip left.

Life’s true face is the skull.

He could wear hats. He could wear an assortment of hats of different shapes and styles. Boater hats, cowboy hats, bowler hats. The list went on. Pork-pie hats, bucket hats, trillbies and panamas. Top hats,...

…all kinds of images swim like tropical fish in the bathysphere inside my skull …

Dear Mary Duende, It’s freezing here in the trenches, but loneliness is colder than any hyperthermia. Gunshots and shrapnel have become my companions. But life is better now than it was when I was at...

I also discovered the only complete Brontosaurus skull.

My skull is soundproof. And thank God too, or else you’d be able to hear all the horrible things I’m thinking about you.

Without a response, I just stand there like an idiot. Like she just slapped my brain out of my skull and I can’t think.

Your skull encloses your brains. But never forget that anytime you open your mouth to talk, you have opened your mind for the entire world to see what is hidden in there!

THE TRUTH OF THE VERY SMALLWhen he is born, a baby’s head is filled with the knowledge of space. The circumference of his skull is as infinite as the twirlings of the universe. His eyes...

The skeleton picked up the second skull, so worn as to barely be recognisable as such. The vertebrae fell and rolled like beads from a string.

His shelf. Good. Noodle dust. Decaying brain collecting dust. Must insert it back in skull—what was I thinking?

Though my skull is the size of a soup bowl, everything in the universe—and more—can fit inside my imagination. And guess what? My imagination tastes like chicken noodle soup.

If my skull were made of glass, I wouldn’t want you to see my thoughts, so I’d fear going bald.