“I’ll be the judge of my own manliness.”

I have one regret: I wish I was a better father.

I like to describe my life as a black hole with a little light out there.

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.

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.

When I find him to be envious, carping, spiteful, hating the successes of others, and complaining that the world has never done enough for him, I am apt to doubt whether his humility before God will atone for his want of manliness.

Because it is in the nature of things that they become extreme, we have passed down from manliness to cruelty. If I had been told when I was 20 that there was a tavern in the town where the brave and the cruel were gathered together,