Words matter. These are the best Quid Quotes from famous people such as Tyson Fury, Olly Murs, Ronan Keating, Paul Merson, Matt Berry, and they’re great for sharing with your friends.
I have a nice house, nice cars, nice watches, nice things. I’ve got money in the bank. I’m not in need of a few quid – as it stands. It’s all irrelevant to me.
When I was 23, I went backpacking around Australia for three months. I saved up a few grand, quit my job and flew to Sydney, then went to Melbourne and up the East Coast, which was an incredible experience. I remember running out of money and getting my mum to send me a few hundred quid, which helped me get by.
I’m glad to have a couple a quid in my pocket to be able to enjoy life.
When you see your friends going out every Friday night, and earning two hundred quid at the building site, and you’re earning twenty-five pounds at Arsenal, and you have to stay in every Thursday, Friday, you know it is hard.
I’ve been collecting synths since the late ’80s. They weren’t very fashionable then, so you could pick up pretty cool stuff for a few hundred quid.
Quid pro quo has an interesting history. It’s originally a contract law term, not a criminal bribery term.
People make you feel like a bad guy for asking for seven quid for your album, like you are slapping them in the face, when they’ll go and pay two grand for a scarf somebody knitted in a sweat shop and stitched a designer label on.
In 1981, I borrowed 2,000 pounds – a lot of money back then – paid 50 quid for a seat, packed my own sandwich, and hopped on a plane to America. It was a mighty leap, but one that paid off. A week later, I got a job called ‘Remington Steele.’
When I first started playing I was earning 27.50 a week, and Id offer to clean the senior footballers cars for a couple of quid. Id sweep the stands in the off-season and even paint the changing rooms.
Significantly reorienting our immigration system towards skilled workers and away from unskilled aliens should be a non-negotiable quid pro quo for amnesty.
I’m glad to have a couple a quid in my pocket to be able to enjoy life.
I mean, I wouldn’t pay more than a couple of quid to see me, and I’m me.
I’m not giving away sartorial secrets but the trousers I wear cost 19 quid.
As a lobbyist, I thought it only natural and right that my clients should reward those members who saved them such substantial sums with generous contributions. This quid pro quo became one of hallmarks of our lobbying efforts.
When I left school, I got a job in a shoe shop and I used to save 15 quid a week and pay for my own singing and acting lessons.
We’d get residencies in the local pubs. It was just an excuse to have a free tab at the bar, and then at some point people started chucking me a few quid for it. There was no game plan to any of it.
I did a paper round as a kid, but the early mornings were too much. My dad took it over, so I was getting paid 15 quid a week, but he was doing it!
If y,ou do buy shoes from wherever you like wear the hell out of them, and go to your cobbler when the heels go and get them reheeled for a few quid.
Rarely do political contributions lead to direct quid pro quo transactions – donations for votes – and those that cross this line normally get caught.
To try and nick a few quid off the income tax… Why? I am not into that. I don’t need that.
Actually if you were to buy a bag of dried lentils it would cost you a couple of quid. Some people don’t have that to spend in the first place. And not everyone wants to eat lentils.
Quid pro quo has an interesting history. It’s originally a contract law term, not a criminal bribery term.
Me and my mate used to go across the park, jump on the Met line to get the Tube into Harrow. There was a sports shop we always used to go into, and there was a McDonald’s. We used to go off with three or four quid in our pocket. That would cover our train fare, mooching around Harrow, and going to McDonald’s.
I went to Manchester, didn’t know anyone, got a job as a runner and worked my butt off. I got paid 60 quid a week, and lived above a pub.
I don’t know who can constantly afford to go and see things. A play, which has five people in it and one set and it cost you 60 quid? And you’re in a theatre that really hasn’t had a great deal of money spent on it in the last 50 or 60 years? It’s kind of weird.
When I left school, I got a job in a shoe shop and I used to save 15 quid a week and pay for my own singing and acting lessons.
I’ve been collecting synths since the late ’80s. They weren’t very fashionable then, so you could pick up pretty cool stuff for a few hundred quid.
I treat people throughout the year, my mates with children, every time I see them I give them 40 quid, or I go to Amazon and get them a gift- no one goes without.
In the absence of relative equality – quid pro quo – a court might question whether there was an actual contract. If I give you a dollar, and you give me a mansion, our contract would lack quid pro quo.
When we started out we didn’t expect anything would come from it, definitely not money. We’d pay to go on pirate radio: twenty quid a month just to go on and spit for an hour.
I went to Manchester, didn’t know anyone, got a job as a runner and worked my butt off. I got paid 60 quid a week, and lived above a pub.
For the first 18 months of Joy Division, we used our jobs to fund the band. We’d all chip in three, five quid to go and do a gig. But it was worth it. It was amazing we could afford to feed ourselves. But we were so creatively and artistically satisfied. You can’t explain that to somebody who’s never been there.
Acting for me is not that quid pro quo.
In the absence of relative equality – quid pro quo – a court might question whether there was an actual contract. If I give you a dollar, and you give me a mansion, our contract would lack quid pro quo.
Acting for me is not that quid pro quo.
I don’t know who can constantly afford to go and see things. A play, which has five people in it and one set and it cost you 60 quid? And you’re in a theatre that really hasn’t had a great deal of money spent on it in the last 50 or 60 years? It’s kind of weird.
When I was 23, I went backpacking around Australia for three months. I saved up a few grand, quit my job and flew to Sydney, then went to Melbourne and up the East Coast, which was an incredible experience. I remember running out of money and getting my mum to send me a few hundred quid, which helped me get by.
I want to start my own airplane business. I’m going to buy two Dakotas, paint them up in war colours and do, er, nostalgia trips to Arnhem – you know, where the old paratroopers used to go – and charge them about 20 quid a time.
For the first 18 months of Joy Division, we used our jobs to fund the band. We’d all chip in three, five quid to go and do a gig. But it was worth it. It was amazing we could afford to feed ourselves. But we were so creatively and artistically satisfied. You can’t explain that to somebody who’s never been there.
As a lobbyist, I thought it only natural and right that my clients should reward those members who saved them such substantial sums with generous contributions. This quid pro quo became one of hallmarks of our lobbying efforts.
Consumers, when they’ve only got a couple of quid left in their pockets, are choosy about how they want to spend it.
In 1981, I borrowed 2,000 pounds – a lot of money back then – paid 50 quid for a seat, packed my own sandwich, and hopped on a plane to America. It was a mighty leap, but one that paid off. A week later, I got a job called ‘Remington Steele.’
When I first started playing I was earning 27.50 a week, and Id offer to clean the senior footballers cars for a couple of quid. Id sweep the stands in the off-season and even paint the changing rooms.
I don’t play the lottery, as I feel I have been really lucky in what I have been able to do in my life, but if I did win, it would be the usual things – helping out the people I love. I’d probably squander a few quid on all sorts of unnecessary crap!
Consumers, when they’ve only got a couple of quid left in their pockets, are choosy about how they want to spend it.
Yeah, I came over to Cambridge with 500 quid in my pocket and I had to borrow a waistcoat off another Australian player. I couldn’t afford to buy one.
I mean, I wouldn’t pay more than a couple of quid to see me, and I’m me.
I did a paper round as a kid, but the early mornings were too much. My dad took it over, so I was getting paid 15 quid a week, but he was doing it!
I have a nice house, nice cars, nice watches, nice things. I’ve got money in the bank. I’m not in need of a few quid – as it stands. It’s all irrelevant to me.
If y,ou do buy shoes from wherever you like wear the hell out of them, and go to your cobbler when the heels go and get them reheeled for a few quid.
Me and my mate used to go across the park, jump on the Met line to get the Tube into Harrow. There was a sports shop we always used to go into, and there was a McDonald’s. We used to go off with three or four quid in our pocket. That would cover our train fare, mooching around Harrow, and going to McDonald’s.
I had a lot of tough experiences at Bristol City. I came there for a few quid and was getting booed off by fans, got injured. I was out of the team due to injury but also because I was having an awful time playing wise. But they were amazing experiences.
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