Arsenal Club Quotes

books are the most powerful tool in the human arsenal, that reading all kinds of books, in whatever format you choose - electronic (even though that wasn't for her) or printed, or audio - is the grandest entertainment, and also is how you take part in human conversation.

Mom taught me not to look away from the worst but to believe that we can all do better. She never wavered in her conviction that books are the most powerful tool in the human arsenal, that reading all kinds of books, in whatever format you choose - electronic (even though that wasn't for her) or printed, or audio - is the grandest entertainment, and also is how you take part in human conversation. Mom taught me that you can make a difference in the world and that books really do matter: they're how we know what we need to do in life, and how we tell others. Mom also showed me, over the course of two years and dozens of books and hundreds of hours in hospitals, that books can be how we get closer to each other, and stay close, even in the case of a mother and son who were very close to begin with, and even after one of them has died.

It is a strange paradox that while the grief of football fans(and it is real grief) is private - we each have an individual relationship with our clubs, and I think that we are secretly convinced that none of the other fans understands quite why we have been harder hit than anyone else - we are forced to mourn in public, surrounded by people whose hurt is expressed in forms different from our own.

I didn't know what exhausted me emotionally until that moment, and I realized that the experience of being a soldier, with unlimited license for excess, excessive violence, excessive sex, was a blueprint for self-destruction. Because then I began to wake up to the idea that manhood, as passed onto me by my father, my scoutmaster, my gym instructor, my army sergeant, that vision of manhood was a blueprint for self-destruction and a lie, and that was a burden that I was no longer able to carry. It was too difficult for me to be that hard. I said, "OK, Ammon, I will try that." He said, "You came into the world armed to the teeth. With an arsenal of weapons, weapons of privilege, economic privilege, sexual privilege, racial privilege. You want to be a pacifist, you're not just going to have to give up guns, knives, clubs, hard, angry words, you are going to have lay down the weapons of privilege and go into the world completely disarmed.

Arsenal play pretty-boy football. Good to watch on the telly, but there’s no real grit in their play.

Even among Sedlacek's own small cell, his Viennese anti-Nazi club, it was not imagined that the pursuit of the Jews had grown quite so systematic. Not only was the story Schindler told him startling simply in moral terms: one was asked to believe that in the midst of a desperate battle, the National Socialists would devote thousands of men, the resources of precious railroads, and enormous cubic footage of cargo space, expensive techniques of engineering, a fatal margin of their research-and-development scientists, a substantial bureaucracy, whole arsenals of automatic weapons, whole magazines of ammunition, all to an extermination which had no military or economic meaning but merely a psychological one.

Dialogue in the works of autobiography is quite naturally viewed with some suspicion. How on earth can the writer remember verbatim conversations that happened fifteen, twenty, fifty years ago? But 'Are you playing, Bob?' is one of only four sentences I have ever uttered to any Arsenal player (for the record the others are 'How's the leg, Bob?' to Bob Wilson, recovering from injury the following season; 'Can I have your autograph, please?' to Charlie George, Pat Rice, Alan Ball and Bertie Mee; and, well, 'How's the leg, Brian?' to Brian Marwood outside the Arsenal club shop when I was old enough to know better) and I can therefore vouch for its absolute authenticity.

Who’s this?” I point to Soccer Guy. He’s wearing red and white, and he’s all dark eyebrows and dark hair. Quite good-looking, actually. “Cesc Fàbregas. God, he’s the most incredible passer. Plays for Arsenal. The English football club? No?

She never wavered in her conviction that books are the most powerful tool in the human arsenal, that reading all kinds of books, in whatever format you choose—electronic (even though that wasn’t for her) or printed, or audio—is the grandest entertainment, and also is how you take part in the human conversation. Mom taught me that you can make a difference in the world and that books really do matter: they’re how we know what we need to do in life, and how we tell others.

One more thing about the kind of audience that football has decided it wants: the clubs have got to make sure that they're good, that there aren't any lean years, because the new crowd won't tolerate failure. These are not the sort of people who will come to watch you play Wimbledon in March when you're eleventh in the First Division and out of all the Cup competitions. Why should they? They've got plenty of other things to do. So, Arsenal... no more seventeen-year losing streaks, like the one between 1953 and 1970, right? No flirting with relegation, like in 1975 and 1976, or the odd half-decade where you don't even get to a final, like we had between 1981 and 1987. We mug punters put up with that, and at least twenty thousand of us would turn up no matter how bad you were (and sometimes you were very, very bad indeed); but this new lot... I'm not so sure.

Arsenal hasn’t been a great soccer club lately, but it has been a good business. This is what a soccer club run as a business looks like: high ticket prices, little desire to win trophies, and respectable profits. If FFP takes force, and other big clubs end up being run like Arsenal rather than like Abramovich’s Chelsea, then we predict:        •   A fall in players’ wages        •   A fall in transfer fees, which would mean less money trickling down from big clubs to the rest        •   A rise in club profits, which would mean more money being taken out of the game by people like the Glazers

Hay entre las diversas formas y especies de miedos, pavores y terrores, algunos extraordinariamente cómicos y grotescos. A esta clase pertenecen el miedo de los católicos por los masones; el miedo de los republicanos por los jesuítas; el miedo de los anarquistas por los polizontes, y el de los polizontes por los anarquistas. El miedo al coco de los niños es mucho más serio, mucho menos pueril que esa otra clase de miedos. Al católico no se le convence de que la masonería es algo así como una sociedad de baile, ni el republicano puede creer que los jesuítas son unos frailucos vanidosillos, ignorantuelos, que se las echan de poetas y escriben versos detestables, y se las echan de sabios y confunden un microscopio con un barómetro. Para el católico, el masón es un hombre terrible; desde el fondo de sus logias dirige toda la albañilería antirreligiosa, tiene un Papa rojo, y un arsenal de espadas, triángulos y demás zarandajas. Para el republicano, el jesuíta es un diplomático maquiavélico, un sabio, un pozo de ciencia y de maldad. Para el anarquista, el polizonte es un individuo listo como un demonio, que se disfraza y no se le conoce, que se cuela en la taberna y en el club, y que está siempre en acecho. Para el polizonte, el que está siempre en acecho, el listo, el terrible, es el anarquista. Todos suponen en el enemigo un poder y una energía extraordinarios. ¿Es por tontería, es por romanticismo, o solamente por darse un poco de importancia? Es muy posible que por todas estas causas juntas. Lo cierto es que al católico no se le puede convencer de que si las ideas antirreligiosas cunden no es por influencia de los masones ni de las logias, sino porque la gente empieza a discurrir; a los republicanos tampoco habrá nadie que les convenza de que la influencia jesuítica depende, no de la listeza ni de la penetración de los hijos de san Ignacio, sino de que la sociedad española actual es una sociedad de botarates y de mequetrefes dominados por beatas. Los polizontes no pueden creer que los atentados anarquistas sean obras individuales, y buscan siempre el hilo del complot; y los anarquistas, no pueden perder la idea de que son perseguidos en todos los momentos de su vida. Los anarquistas padecen además la obsesión de la traición. En cualquier sitio donde se reúnan más de cinco anarquistas, hay siempre, según ellos, un confidente o un traidor. Muchas veces este traidor no es tal traidor, sino un pobre diablo a quien algún truchimán de la policía, haciéndose pasar por dinamitero feroz, le saca todos los datos necesarios para meter en la cárcel a unos cuantos.

According to Arsène Wenger (current manager of Arsenal football club), “the biggest difficulty you have in this job is not to motivate the players but to get them relaxed enough to express their talent

books are the most powerful tool in the human arsenal, that reading all kinds of books, in whatever format you choose—electronic (even though that wasn’t for her) or printed, or audio—is the grandest entertainment, and also is how you take part in the human conversation. Mom

I think Marina got it exactly right. Mom taught me not to look away from the worst but to believe that we can all do better. She never wavered in her conviction that books are the most powerful tool in the human arsenal, that reading all kinds of books, in whatever format you choose—electronic (even though that wasn’t for her) or printed, or audio—is the grandest entertainment, and also is how you take part in the human conversation. Mom taught me that you can make a difference in the world and that books really do matter: they’re how we know what we need to do in life, and how we tell others. Mom also showed me, over the course of two years and dozens of books and hundreds of hours in hospitals, that books can be how we get closer to each other, and stay close, even in the case of a mother and son who were very close to each other to begin with, and even after one of them has died.

On 19th November, 1886, Spurs played their first fixture against a newly-formed South London club called Woolwich Arsenal. It was a friendly abandoned due to poor light after 75 minutes, by which time Spurs were 2-1 up.

West Ham was founded at the A. F. Hills shipyard and went by the name of Thames Ironworks; and of course Arsenal was a club set up by the workers at the Woolwich Arsenal factory complex. The surprising thing was that none of these clubs had in common the rules of the game. Could you pick up the ball and run with it? How big was the goal? How many players should there be to a side? These were all questions that had to be settled, or argued about, before the start of a game.

Mom taught me not to look away from the worst but to believe that we can all do better. She never wavered in her conviction that books are the most powerful tool in the human arsenal, that reading all kinds of books, in whatever format you choose—electronic (even though that wasn’t for her) or printed, or audio—is the grandest entertainment, and also is how you take part in the human conversation. Mom taught me that you can make a difference in the world and that books really do matter: they’re how we know what we need to do in life, and how we tell others.

Part of it was my own latent depression, permanently looking for a way out and liking what it saw at Highbury that night; but even more than that, I was as usual looking to Arsenal to show me that things did not stay bad for ever, that it was possible to change patterns, that losing streaks did not last. Arsenal, however, had other ideas: they seemed to want to show me that troughs could indeed be permanent, that some people, like some clubs, just couldn't ever find ways out of the rooms they had locked themselves into. It seemed to me that night and for the next few days that we had both of us made too many wrong choices, and had let things slide for far too long, for anything ever to come right; I was back with the feeling, much deeper and much more frightening this time, that I was chained to the club, and thus to this miserable half-life, forever.

By now I felt guilty about what I had got my father into. He had developed no real affection for the club, and would rather, I think, have taken me to any other First Division ground. I was acutely aware of this, and so a new source of discomfort emerged: as Arsenal huffed and puffed their way towards 1-0 wins and nil-nil draws I wriggled with embarrassment, waiting for Dad to articulate his dissatisfaction.

She never wavered in her conviction that books are the most powerful tool in the human arsenal, that reading all kinds of books, in whatever format you choose—electronic (even though that wasn’t for her) or printed, or audio—is the grandest entertainment, and also is how you take part in the human conversation.

Only Arsenal has avoided relegation completely since reaching the top division in 1919.

That summer, two of Wenger’s French boys went off to join their national team at the 1998 World Cup in their home country. Les Bleus marauded their way to the final, where they overpowered Brazil, 3–0. The final goal was swept in by Petit and assisted by Vieira. In London the next morning, the front page of the Mirror carried a photo of those two players locked in a hug beside a headline that showed just how much their stodgy old London club—and English soccer—were changing. ARSENAL WIN THE WORLD CUP, it read.

While other London clubs in fancier neighborhoods—Arsenal, Tottenham, Chelsea—have all enjoyed long periods as the capital’s preeminent team with championships and trophies to their name, glory has always remained tantalizingly out of West Ham’s grasp. Not that their fans are unduly concerned; they embrace their status as the city’s gruff, blue-collar underdogs with a healthy slice of gallows humor. When Harry Redknapp, a former player at the club, went to inspect the club’s trophy cabinet after taking over as manager, “Lord Lucan, Shergar, and two Japanese prisoners of war fell out,” he wrote. Even the club’s anthem, “I’m Forever Blowing Bubbles,” is an old Broadway tune about shattered dreams and disappointment, and it’s bellowed by thousands of supporters wearing the team’s claret and blue jerseys before every game.

Just six clubs have played every season in the Premier League. They are Arsenal, Chelsea, Everton, Liverpool, Manchester United and Tottenham Hotspur.

Nine clubs have never been relegated from the Premier League. They are Arsenal, Bournemouth, Chelsea, Everton, Liverpool, Manchester United, Stoke City, Swansea City and Tottenham Hotspur.

Insight is his arsenal. He is a great man—a man of impact who always hits his mark. Whether in a cave or castle, he knows in mind that he wears a crown of triumph.