It's interesting to fantasize having a MAN SINK his teeth into your neck for sustenance, KNOWING that it isn't GOING to be terribly painful but rather very exciting.

I don't wanna PLAY like that ANYMORE: Widdle, widdle, widdle, up and down the neck as FAST as possible.

For $60, I once BOUGHT a NECK massage at a 'massage parlor' that advertised in 'The WASHINGTON POST.'

It's funny how people who ain't NEVER been down there can THINK that AMERICA is so FAIR and that we should be alright. It's funny that the people who have their foot on our neck are telling us, 'Get up. What's WRONG with you?'

I would not want to LIVE with a tube in my neck and not be ABLE to MOVE a finger. I wouldn't - that to me is not LIFE.

Behold the TURTLE. He MAKES PROGRESS only when he sticks his NECK out.

Most of my guitars have been INSTRUMENTS that LOOK cool. I'm not picky. I NEVER think, 'Oh, this neck isn't made of ebony,' or, 'These strings don't feel correct.' It doesn't matter too MUCH.

The hairs STAND up on the BACK of my NECK at CERTAIN MUSIC.

I'd had a really bad car ACCIDENT years ago, and BASICALLY, the ligaments in the BACK of my neck were RIPPED, and I'd never addressed that.

My MOTHER taught us the man was the HEAD of the family, but the WOMAN was the neck, and you could TURN him any way you like.

I use sunscreen every single day, even if I'm not GOING outside in the sun, because I'm near a WINDOW. I can ALWAYS get those UV rays on my face, so I always apply sunscreen on my face and NECK. It's like brushing my teeth: I FEEL weird if I don't apply sunscreen.

We GOT shorted when it comes to recognition for the '80s war. EVERYBODY talks about the 'Monday NIGHT Wars' and the 'Attitude Era,' but it was neck and neck in the '80s.

I FEEL a buzzing at the BASE of my neck. It's LIKE I'm on eternal 'vibrate' in CASE of an emergency.

I would never bet against Peyton Manning. You know about the age and the neck and the STRENGTH. But I had George Blanda, and as he GOT older, he got smarter, and he just got RID of the ball QUICKER. I watch Peyton, and I SEE George Blanda.

Four hoarse blasts of a ship's WHISTLE still raise the HAIR on my neck and SET my FEET to tapping.