I had what I wanted.. I had it all ..

I saw your last fight Shawrelle. You spent so much face time on the canvas, you thought the canvas had titties.

I want you to jab, right in the tits, until they turn blue and fall off.

I'm 32, Mr. Dunn, and I'm here celebrating the fact that I spent another year scraping dishes and waitressing which is what I've been doing since 13, and according to you I'll be 37 before I can even throw a decent punch, which I have to admit, after working on this speed bag for a month may be the God's simple truth. Other truth is, my brother's in prison, my sister cheats on welfare by pretending one of her babies is still alive, my daddy's dead, and my momma weighs 312lbs. If I was thinking straight I'd go back home, find a used trailer, buy a deep fryer and some oreos. Problem is, this the only thing I ever felt good doing. If I'm too old for this then I got nothing. That enough truth to suit you?

If there's magic in boxing, it's the magic of fighting battles beyond endurance, beyond cracked ribs, ruptured kidneys and detached retinas. It's the magic of risking everything for a dream that nobody sees but you.

Jesus H., your left! Keep your left up!

Mama, you take Mardell and J.D. and get home. 'Fore I tell that lawyer there that you're so worried about your welfare you never signed those house papers like you're supposed to. So anytime I feel like it, I can sell that house from under your fat, lazy, hillbilly asses. And if you ever come back that's exactly what I'll do.

Mo cuishle. It means my darling. My blood.

My main objection to Million Dollar Baby always centered on its misleading marketing, and effort by Warner Brothers to sell it as a movie about a female Rocky, with barely a hint of the pitch-dark substance that led Andrew Sarris of the New York Observer (hardly a right-winger) to declare that 'no movie in my memory has depressed me more than Million Dollar Baby. Michael Medved, [1]

Then he walked out.. I don't think he had anything left.

There is magic in fighting battles beyond endurance.

To make a fighter you gotta strip them down to bare wood: you can't just tell 'em to forget everything you know if you gotta make 'em forget even their bones... make 'em so tired they only listen to you, only hear your voice, only do what you say and nothing else... show 'em how to keep their balance and take it away from the other guy... how to generate momentum off their right toe and how to flex your knees when you fire a jab... how to fight backing up so that the other guy doesn't want to come after you. Then you gotta show 'em all over again. Over and over and over... till they think they're born that way.

Well, maybe...someone ought to count to ten.