When I won Wimbledon, I said to God: just let me win this one tournament and I won't play another match. Maybe God's telling me to go home, but I don't want to go home. We are negotiating at the moment.

I have so many runner-up cups that I am thinking of starting my own tea shop.

My tattoo is a cross, a rose and a shark. A cross is a cross, a rose like love and a shark is a pretty tough animal.

Lately, my mind is like an orchestra. If you don't have the conductor, you don't know what to do. One guy is playing jazz, one guy is playing rock and roll, another classical. It's a big mess.

Actually, I tossed it nicely, landed nicely, like airplane. No warning, beautiful. That's the art of throwing racquets.

I must be the only player in the world who ever injured himself for a tournament by stepping on a shell on the beach. I don't know what I'm going to do.

At her birthday, my seven-year-old daughter will say that she wants these big cakes and certain expensive toys as presents, and I can't say no to her. It would just break my heart. But when I was little, for birthdays we just played outside and we were happy if we got any cake.