“Whenever we submit our will to someone else’s opinion, a part of us dies.”

Tomorrow is always another day to make things right.

Everybody has a choice. I am not here to shove my light down everybody’s throat. For those who don’t want it, I have nothing to defend.

We should always be aspiring to know more, and to better ourselves, and to improve ourselves. To improve ourselves, because that’s how we improve the world around us, by working within us.

Never be afraid of not knowing. Find out.

To me that’s a reflection of love, when someone can see you enjoying yourself, and want to participate, or want to encourage, or want to help you to do something that you enjoy.

This life is a process of learning.

Loving you is like a Song I replay every 3 Minutes and 30 Seconds of every Day.

It could all be so simple, but you’d rather make it hard, loving you is like a battle, and we both end up with scars.

It’s more important to be righteous than to be right.

If you love something and if you’re committed and diligent – the things happen!

Wisdom is better than silver and gold.

Let optimists rule the world.

Let me be patient, let me be kind, make me unselfish, without being blind.

My concept of successful living is escaping the matrix.

Everyday is another chance to get things right.

I have inner peace. It’s a different person.

If you grow up in the suburbs, you hear of people dying of old age, car wrecks, cancer. In the city, it’s always people dying of violence or stray bullets.

Only in death will I relinquish my belts.

Boxing is a dying sport, really. Years ago, the world heavyweight champion could be said to have reached the highest pinnacle of sport. Even in this country, boxers were heroes. Think of Henry Cooper and Frank Bruno.

I’d rather be shot by a bullet than to be cut by your words. I’ll die cold on the pavement before I lie in the casket of your assurances.

I am not self-destructive. I am not a person who wants to die.

The age of 40 is not a death sentence.

How is it that the colors don’t seem colorful anymore? How is it that the child in me wants to live yet keeps dying more and more?

This white woman came up to me, and I’m thinking, WOW. When I was a kid, she would have been robbed and raped and left for dead. This is a real strange scenario, and I just wanted to cry. I’m like, “Who am I? Where’s my heritage?