The rest of the guys in Sabbath became boring old farts, and there I was, this crazy guy, still into wrecking hotel rooms and having parties.

Condemned to violence, arrested by pain. Inside the soul lies a man insane.

I don't know if I'm a medium for some outside source. Whatever it is, frankly, I hope it's not what I think … Satan.

I don't forget what I used to do and so I can't justifiably say to my kid, "Don't you do that," when I used to do it myself.

I kept hearing that metal is dead and Ozzy's dead and people that like Ozzy are dead. I have never had an empty seat. I've always sold out, so who's saying it's all over?

I can see thru mountains watch me disappear, I can even touch the sky. Swallowing the colors of the sounds I hear, am I just a crazy guy? You bet.

Still, one of the few good things about being dyslexic is that when I say I don’t read reviews, I mean I don’t read reviews.