I'm the best fighter in the world. No one can beat me....My objective is to inflict as much pain as possible, to win and win spectacularly...Ever since I was 12 years old, I was groomed to be the heavyweight champion of the world. I've been prepared to handle the pressure, the dealing with the press, everything.

I was hoping he would get up so I could hit him again and keep him down.

I don't do anything. My life sucks.

Anyone with a grain of sense would know that if I punched my wife I would rip her head off. It's all lies. I have never laid a finger on her.

I can deal with adversity.

My style was impetuous, my defenses were impregnable, and I was ferocious.

Cus was my father but he was more than a father. You can have a father and what does it mean?—it doesn't really mean anything. Cus was my backbone . . . . He did everything for my best interest . . . . We'd spend all our time together, talk about things that, later on, would come back to me. Like about character, and courage. Like the hero and the coward: that the hero and the coward both feel the same thing, but the hero uses his fear, projects it onto his opponent, while the coward runs. It's the same thing, fear, but it's what you do with it that matters.