“Ay Dad, brush my hair one time. Hey pops! Come brush my hair.”

I’m still that kid who’s living his dream and I’m just having fun.

I fight, knock them out, have some sex and Monday I’m back to hitting bags and kicking ass.

He’s smaller than me, did you see him? He looked like a noodle next to me.

You seen it, was it as pretty as me?

I make sure Richard calls me. Bosses talk to bosses.

Sometimes it’s not about speed about power.

I’m 23 but I got a brain like I’m 32 man, switched the numbers around.

After this fight, there really wouldn’t be a reason for me to stay.

I just seen you in Vegas, you were chubby, your ears were chubby.

Who wants to wake up in the morning and have to remember that they’ve got to face Adrien Broner?

They say before you make something happen you have to see it yourself.

I’m maturing as a man. I’m maturing more inside the ring, but at the end of the day I’m still Adrien Broner.

It don’t matter what competition it is. I make it all look easy.

Boxing is an all year round sport.

I have been seeing it for a long time and I am living my dream.

Honestly, I don’t want to get into two grown men’s personal business.

Hang on, did you just call me angel? I asked. If i did? I dont like it. He grinned. It stays. Angel. He leaned across the table, raised his hand to my face, and brushed his thumb along one corner of my mouth. I pulled away, too late.

All our feelings, like the artist’s paints and brush, are ways of communicating and sharing something meaningful from us to the world.

If I dreamt this, while walking, walking in the London streets, the subconscious of each and every other life, past and present, brushing me in passing, what makes it real? Writing it down.

It seems that most of us could benefit from a brush with a near-fatal disaster to help us recognise the important things that we are too defeated or embittered to recognise from day to day.

I take the most wrenchingly painful moments of my life, brush them off and present them for the amusement of others. Luckily for me, my childhood was torture.

We never pick up a brush and stand in front of our own easel.

Life gets so ridiculous, you just have to brush it off like sand and laugh. I think the laughter is good medicine for crap-itis.

Just as I work with paints, brushes, and canvas, I work with the light, pieces of glass and chemistry.