“To hang out in a gay bar or put on a sequined halter top makes me feel like a total person.”

Maybe my life isn’t great. We don’t have all the answers. Look at it from my side.

I’ve got to give Larry Bird his due; he was a great player. He knew the game and he was smart.

I can’t begin to describe the amount of crap I’ve taken for being a lousy free-throw shooter.

I’ll be the judge of my own manliness.

These people didn’t know anything about black people, so the only thing they could imagine was the worst thing.

I spent money, I slept with women around the league, but I always kept my mind on the game.

The life I was leading was changing me into someone I didn’t even know.

I’m going to come out and tell it like it is.

It’s all about what they can get out of me.

I didn’t want to be known as Madonna’s playboy, her boy toy.

When I hit bottom, I can attack the problem and get to where I want to be.

Shaq is not the man. He’s the man because the NBA wants him to be the man, but before you can be the man, you’ve got to be the man.

I don’t trust what this life has given me.

I’m just saying I’m being myself, and people understand that.

I lost $35,000 in less than a week at the Mirage in Las Vegas.

They say Elvis is dead. I say, no, you’re looking at him. Elvis isn’t dead; he just changed color.

Married life is an existence with bars around it.

The unsaid message of that endless rack of juniors’ pushup bras?

Tattooed men who are not behind bars are either latent criminals or degenerate aristocrats.

Finding an etiolated Henry James slumped at the bar in a haze of indecision, and shooting him dead.

If the history of the American sentence were a John Ford movie, its second act would conclude with the young Ernest Hemingway walking into a saloon

For my bar mitzvah, I gave out a mix tape of ’90s grunge – if you got it now, you would think it was the ‘Singles’ soundtrack.

I watched a lot of the James Bond movies, certainly, both the old ones and the reboot with Daniel Craig. I watched a lot of the Matt Helm films with Dean Martin, which just have these great car scenes where it’s rear-projected, and they just start making martinis out of a bar in the glove compartment.

You taste something from St. George, even across categories – the gin, the whisky – it tastes like something from St. George. It’s the same as going to a great bar: