Those Aussie rugby fans are a bunch of sore losers. I hate 'em all.

I refuse to go into a fast-food outlet - to use the toilet even - in case anyone got the wrong idea and thought I was sneaking in a quick burger.

I play with a fear of letting my team down. That's what motivates me.

What I am proud of is I have searched for the best of me and I have been a team man without fail.

I only get the points because I have team-mates who do the work and put me in the position to get them.

I'm pretty aware that the pursuit of perfection is, inherently, a flawed concept.

Playing the game, representing the team, giving my all and never letting go has meant everything to me.

We need to ask ourselves what are we here for and what have we worked so hard to be here for.

My own position is so far on the obsessive side of preparation and professionalism that I fear my point of view is not going to be shared by anyone.

When you're obsessive, like me, searching for something unattainable can become unhealthy ... it's like falling through the air and grabbing at the clouds.

I'm very happy to be back playing rugby for England again - there were times when I questioned if this would happen.

The cherished dream of every chessplayer is to play a match with the World Champion. But here is the paradox: the closer you come to the realization of this goal, the less you think about it.

If he didn't have Ronnie already in his arms he'd have assumed she'd just opened the door...and aged a few years. Wow, he thought in surprise, she's going to be hot when we hit fifty.

That day I swore to never manipulate anyone again. Even if I believed I was doing good--for who am I to presume what is good for others?

For better or worse, poetry is my life.

The need of man to wholly realize himself is the only fixed star.

As we look forward to the New Year, let's resolve to recommit ourselves to the values we share.

I like Lady Gaga's music and I think her fashion is great, but I saw her on a chat show and I wanted to punch her in the face.

Our whole life consists of despairing of an answer and seeking an answer.

When we leave this world, and are laid in the earth, the prince walks as narrow a path as the day-laborer.

Genre fiction was looked at as a ghetto, but I wonder now if realist fiction, sealing itself off in the glum suburbs of a dysfunctional society, denying the use of imagination, was the ghetto.