Emmett Till and I were about the same age. A week after he was murdered... I stood on a corner with a gang of boys, looking at pictures of him in the black newspapers and magazines. In one, he was laughing and happy. In the other, his head was swollen and bashed in, his eyes bulging out of their sockets, and his mouth twisted and broken... I couldn't get Emmett Till out of my mind, until one evening I thought of a way to get back at white people for his death.

God gave me this illness to remind me that I'm not Number One; He is.

You could be the world's best garbage man, the world's best model; it don't matter what you do if you're the best.

I run on the road long before I dance under the lights.

I'm the best. I just haven't played yet.

He's too ugly to be the champ!

The man who will whip me will be fast, strong and hasn't been born yet.