I may have smoked too much weed, but I wasn't taking drugs or anything.

I'm happy because - I'm not doing anything deceitful, I think, to my family. I'm successful because I don't have to sleep with one of my friends' girlfriends or wife or something. That's why I'm successful, that's success to me. I'm not dead, I'm not in the gutter - that's success to me.

The drug dealers, they sympathize with me. They see me as some sort of pathetic character.

I don't want to be remembered. As long as my kids remember me, I'd rather be forgotten by everybody else.

The tempt for greatness is the biggest drug in the world.

One morning I woke up and found my favorite pigeon, Julius, had died I was devastated and was gonna use his crate as my stickball bat to honor him. I left the crate on my stoop and went in to get something and I returned to see the sanitation man put the crate into the crusher. I rushed him and caught him flush on the temple with a titanic right hand he was out cold, convulsing on the floor like an infantile retard.

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