In the dream Liston and I were in the center of the ring, which seemed to be pitched right in the middle of the Seattle World's Fair. I knew it was Seattle because I recognized some of the tall modern buildings I've seen on TV. Anyway, the dream started in the sixth round of the fight and I said to myself that I must be doing all right because Liston's been saying he'll knock me out within five.
The canvas was all full of blood. I kept looking down at it because I was stepping in puddles of blood and I didn't want to. I didn't know whose blood it was, Liston's or mine. I woke up without ever finding out, but it doesn't really matter to me because before you're the champion you'll give everything to become it and when you are the champion you give even more to stay it.
This is the only thing I take for granted in a fight. If I fight the way I intend to, Liston will have to respect me in order to defend himself. If I fight poorly I won't even respect myself. I don't underestimate myself, but I don't like anybody else to do it either. That makes me feel terrible, but it builds up my desire to prove that if you don't appreciate what it means to be the champion, don't depreciate it either.