When I was a young fellow I was knocked down plenty. I wanted to stay down, but I couldn't. I had to collect the two dollars for winning or go hungry. I had to get up. I was one of those hungry fighters. You could have hit me on the chin with a sledgehammer for five dollars. When you haven't eaten for two days you'll understand.

A Gentle Man and a Gentleman.

You know what a champion is? A champion is someone who's ready when the gong rings - not just before, not just after - but when it rings.

I can't sing and I can't dance, but I can lick any S.O.B. in the house.

A champion owes everybody something. He can never pay back for all the help he got, for making him an idol.

For the first and only time, I was more worried about getting hurt by the crowd than by the guy I was fighting. I got a pretty good blast when introduced. The crowd was hollering and raising hell. I looked around for my bodyguard, a colorful New York character named Wild Bill Lyons, who packed two pearl-handled pistols and used to talk a lot about his days in the West. Wild Bill was under the ring, hiding.

Tell him he can have my title, but I want it back in the morning.