The skull is nature's sculpture.

As I write this entry, I touch a saber-tooth tiger skull in my office. Without stars there could be no skulls.

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, straw hats, trapper hats. Wide brim narrow brim, stingy brim. He could wear a fez. Fezzes were cool. Hadn't someone once said that fezzes were cool? He was pretty aur ether had. And they were. They were cool.

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

We want your skull! Make no bones about it!

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.

Nothing is tough but your skull so think out of the skull box and let the thoughts fly.

Life's true face is the skull.

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.

Behold,' said the Voice, 'earthly beauty. It is nothing but seeming, for to the uninstructed eye the world appears fruitful and sweet, yet in it is nothing but a pile of skulls, showing where others were lost as they went before.