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I'm not a hat person. I really don't like wearing things on my head.

I wanted to do something where I could hang my hat.

You see, I'd not a very good place here; the fellows looked on me as a sort of special object of ridicule, on account of the hat and cane, walk, and so on, though I thought I'd got over that by this time.

Once I had asked God for one or two extra inches in height, but instead, he made me as tall as the sky, so high that I could not measure myself... By giving me this height to reach people, he has also given me great responsibilities.

I have thousands and thousands of hats. Some are the most outrageous hats in the world. They are my disguise. I hide beneath them.

I was brought up in a household where I was not allowed to take the Lord's name in vain.

My grandmother used to embarrass me more, when she would pick me up from school wearing a big fuzzy hat. I didn't like that.

It's going to be a rule, I think, for wearing a crash hat, and I actually fractured my skull through not wearing a hat. I was so lucky to escape from that, and now, it's something I always do.

Everywhere you hang your hat is home. Home is the bright cave under the hat.