I feel like sometimes that I was not meant for this society.

March 16th, Mike Tyson [vs.] Razor Ruddock, Razor Ruddock dies. If he doesn't die, it doesn't count. If he's not dead, it doesn't count.

I know I'm going to blow one day. My life is doomed the way it is. I have no future.

Fighting is spiritual. It appears to be physical from the layman's eyes. In my fights, I seemed to be angry and mad - all that stuff you saw me doing, the yelling and screaming and being mean in the ring - but I'm cool as a cucumber. I can hear everybody talking around me outside of the ring. I can see everybody. I know what is going on.

I felt Holyfield was using his head illegally. I told the referee I wasn't getting any help, so I went back to the streets. I cannot defend it, but it happened.

I think the average person thinks I'm a nut and I deserve whatever happens to me.

You have to compete in life because if you don't have no competition - no competition, no spirit, you know, you'll fall under the slightest struggle.