“You know what I always say about basketball whenever anybody tried to tell me the Knicks are gonna be good: They’re old. Old people don’t get healthy. They die.”

What does politically correct mean? If you’re fat, don’t ask me if you’re fat, because I’m gonna tell you the truth. You’re fat.

The meek may inherit the earth, but they wont get the ball from me.

If I weren’t earning $3 million a year to dunk a basketball, most people on the street would run in the other direction if they saw me coming.

But when I see a story on welfare on television, they only show black people.

I don’t hate anyone, at least not for more than 48 minutes, barring overtime.

He’ll never be Jordan. This clearly takes him out of the conversation. He can win as much as he wants to.

I like to help poor people who got no chance. If rich people don’t, who will? Not other poor people, that’s for sure.

I’m just what America needs: another unemployed black man.

There’s only 5 real jobs in the world. Teacher, fireman, policeman, doctor and somebody who is in the armed service. If you don’t have one of those 5 jobs, you shouldn’t take your life that serious.

If all babies are so cute, how the hell do we have so many ugly people in the world?

I think you have an obligation to be honest.

You can’t start a diet in the middle of the week, that’s just stupid.

I remember sitting down with the Rockets and saying, ‘Yeah. I’m going to retire.’ They said, ‘Well, we’ll give you $9 million.’ And I said, ‘You got a pen on you?’

If you’re scarde to fail, you don’t deserve to be successful.

People always say turn the other cheek. If you turn the other cheek, I’m gonna hit you in the other cheek too.

These are my new shoes. They’re good shoes. They won’t make you rich like me, they won’t make you rebound like me, they definitely won’t make you handsome like me. They’ll only make you have shoes like me. That’s it.

A living thing is distinguished from a dead thing by the multiplicity of the changes at any moment taking place in it.

He was giving up on keeping me alive, letting nature–or rather mob justice–take its course. When he returned, and I was dead, he wouldn’t hold anyone responsible. He would not mourn. All this I could hear in those three words.

The ordinary procedure of the nineteenth century is that when a powerful and noble personage encounters a man of feeling, he kills, exiles, imprisons or so humiliates him that the other, like a fool, dies of grief.

Are they dead that yet speak louder than we can speak, and a more universal language? Are they dead that yet act? Are they dead that yet move upon society and inspire the people with nobler motives and more heroic patriotism?

Christ has made of death a narrow starlit strip between the companionships of yesterday and the reunions of tomorrow.

You cannot schedule death.

I would die for you it’s true if I could only learn how to breathe around you.

Give me a life or give me death, but not this.