“The only time my records are going to be broken is by my own spawn. I’m going be training that child out the womb.”

Everything I’ve been thinking, every vision, even down to every shot I throw, it just ends up here in reality.

Ritual is another word for fear, manifested in a different way.

I don’t care about other sports. I don’t care about anything I don’t need to care about. This is my sport: it is my life. I study it; I think about it all the time. Nothing else matters.

People think I’m a celebrity. I’m not a celebrity.

We come bulletproof in Ireland. We’re reared tough, and we fight.

I’ve learned new footwork patterns that are very unusual. I’ve learned how to find a lower centre of gravity, and I’ve found more angles to throw shots.

I have the greatest job in the world. I get paid loads of cash for beating the crap out of people. And I’m very good at it.

I never got into training to be an All-Ireland boxing champ or to win a belt. At the start, I just got into it to learn how to defend myself when I got into situations.

Not a lot of people or pros in this game know how to train correctly. That’s why they don’t have a long career. Their body gets banged up. They get into a rhythm of heavy sparring and heavy work, but through that, they’re limiting movement.

What can I say? I’m a talker.

I see fighters make funny videos about me and stick them on Facebook and get 20 likes.

If people want to believe in this god or that god, that’s fine by me; believe away. But I think we can be our own gods. I believe in myself.

I think I am the greatest fighter in any class. I know I can hold two, maybe even three belts.

I just figured out that if I gave my all into this game – if I put everything into the fight business – then I would eventually run the fight business.

What it’s like to be me? You know, it’s good to be me. My life is good.

I’m just a kid that defied the odds. I’m just a kid that ignored the doubt. I’m just a kid from a little place in Dublin, Ireland, that went all the way, and I’m going to continue to go all the way.

When an unbaked pot is broken, the potter can use the mud to make a new one; but when a baked one is broken, he cannot do the same any longer

Remember: Life is short, break the rules (they were made to be broken) Forgive quickly, kiss slowly Love truly, laugh uncontrollably And never regret anything that makes you smile.

Even when muddy your wings sparkle bright wonders that heal broken worlds.

I turn to right and left, in all the earth I see no signs of justice, sense or worth: A man does evil deeds, and all his days Are filled with luck and universal praise; Another’s good in all he does – he dies A wretched, broken man whom all despise.

The word ‘survivor’ carries a weight of remembrance that has broken the minds and bodies of more than a few men and women.

Oh what a wonderful soul so bright inside you. Got power to heal the sun’s broken heart, power to restore the moon’s vision too.

I’m one-hundred-fifty miles off Cape Horn, both autopilots are broken, and my boat is drifting toward one of the nastiest chunks of ocean on the face of the earth.

This rose of pearl-coated infinity transforms the diseased slums of a broken heart into a palace made of psalms and gold.