I know I have only myself to blame for all the problems I've had in my life.

I hate to cry and I hate to sound like sour grapes, but no one ever listens to me. No one ever hears what I have to say.

I just look around and say, I'm a mess. I don't know why I do things.

I know why they don't like me because they want the money I have.

I want to rip out his heart and feed it to Lennox Lewis. I want to kill people. I want to rip their stomachs out and eat their children.

I'll fight anybody my trainer puts me in with because I'm confident I can beat any fighter in the world. If anybody can see I'm almost a master at evading punches coming at me.

I ain't never loan friends money; I give it to 'em and I don't expect to get it back. Even when he says, "I'll pay you back," I never expect it. If he gives it back, then hey, that's a feather in his cap, but I don't expect to get it back.