David Beckham Quotes

Impossible is just a big word thrown around by small men who find it easier to live in the world they've been given than to explore the power they have to change it. Impossible is not a fact. It's an opinion. Impossible is not a declaration. It's a dare. Impossible is potential. Impossible is temporary. Impossible is nothing.

[F]or the most part football these days is the opium of the people, not to speak of their crack cocaine. Its icon is the impeccably Tory, slavishly conformist Beckham. The Reds are no longer the Bolsheviks. Nobody serious about political change can shirk the fact that the game has to be abolished. And any political outfit that tried it on would have about as much chance of power as the chief executive of BP has in taking over from Oprah Winfrey.

If you tell Google that you would like to see images of ‘Black men’ the images that come up are all portrait photos of black men. Indeed, it takes more than a dozen rows of images before anybody who isn’t black comes up in the images. By contrast a search for ‘White men’ first throws up an image of David Beckham – who is white – but then the second is of a black model. From there every line of five images has either one or two black men in the line-up. Many of the images of white men are of people convicted of crimes with taglines such as ‘Beware of the average white man’ and ‘White men are bad’.

He notices David Beckham in a well-tailored suit—once again, how had he convinced himself he was straight?

I said to Mum, “Vati is very very like David Beckham, isn’t he? Apart from being porky, heavily bearded and crap at football.

6. ANDRES INIESTA - SPAIN   (No matter what they say six is better than seven)   5. DAVID BECKHAM - ENGLAND   (High five!)   4. KAKA - BRAZIL   (I'm number four on the list but number one in your heart)   3. DIEGO MARADONA - ARGENTINA   (I'm the trifecta!)   2. LIONEL MESSI - ARGENTINA   (Watch out I'm right behind you.)   1. PELE - BRAZIL   (Knock knock, who's there? Best, Best who, Best Ever)

I couldn’t help but laugh when Landon’s round eyes met mine again. This was my life. A leopard print couch, a David Beckham look-alike, two lesbians, and a Felix the Cat clock. Sure, it wasn’t the JumboTron at Safeco Field, but it was by far the most romantic thing I’d ever experienced.

In the PAO system, every two-digit number from 00 to 99 is represented by a single image of a person performing an action on an object. The number 34 might be Frank Sinatra (a person) crooning (an action) into a microphone (an object). Likewise, 13 might be David Beckham kicking a soccer ball.

For example: Suppose Circa-2000 David Beckham were to strut across this busy Los Angeles Metro station platform wearing nothing except his ripped abs and jeans? He’d seductively squeeze his way through the crowd of downtown-bound commuters, his gaze glued to mine as he makes a beeline toward me, professing Victoria—what’s-her-face—has left him and he wants to be with me. Then, of course, I’d forgo swearing off men.

away from fast food - for three weeks already. And I was starting to miss the occasional burger and fries. I assumed there'd be a few of the other lads feeling the same way. I talked to Sven, who thought it wouldn't do any harm, and then had a word with the England chefs. On the Wednesday night we all trooped down to dinner. The doors of the dining room were shut and there were two giant golden arches stuck up on them. We all went inside and there was a McDonald's takeaway mountain waiting for us: more burgers, cheeseburgers and chips than you've ever seen piled up in one room in your life. It was a complete surprise to all the players. We just devoured everything: it was like watching kids going mad in a candy store. And it worked. We did it again before we played Denmark. Maybe fast food was what was missing from our preparations for facing Brazil.

Five years from today. Where, exactly, do you want to be?" Her eyes lit up. Sadie loves that kind of question. "Ooh. Wow. Let me think. December, getting close to Christmas. I'll be twenty-one..." "Passed out under the tree with a fifth of Jack, half a 7-Eleven rotisserie chicken, and a cat who poops in your shoes." Frankie returned our startled glances with his lizard look. "Oh, wait. That's me. Sorry." I opted to ignore him. "Five years to the day,Sadie." She glanced quickly between Frankie and me. "Do we need a time-out here?" "Nope," I said. "Carry on." "Okay. Five years. I will be in New York visiting the pair of you because, while NYU is fab, I will be halfwau through my final year of classics at Cambridge, trying to decide whether I want to be a psychologist or a pastry chef. You," she said sternly to Frankie, "will be drinking appropriate amounds of champagne with your boyfriend, a six-three blond from Helsinki who happens to design for Tory Burch. Ah! Don't say anything. It's my future. You can choose a different designer when it's you go. I want the Tory freebies." She turned to me. "We will be sipping said champagne in the middle of the Gagosian Galley, because it is the opening night of your first solo exhibit. At which everything will sell." She punctuated the sentence by poking the air with a speared black olive. "I love you," I told her. Then, "But that wasn't really about you." "Oh,but it was," she disagreed, going back to her salad. "It's exactly where I want to be. Although" -she grinned over a tomato wedge- "I might have the next David Beckham in tow." "The next David Beckham is a five-foot-tall Welshman named Madog Cadwalader. He has extra teeth and bow legs." "Really?" Sadie asked. Frankie snorted. "No.Not really.

Whatever he may have done or had yet to achieve, on the night of 26 November 2003 David Beckham confirmed a special place for himself among the myths and legends of Real Madrid's history. In the 35th minute of Real Madrid's Championship League group match against Olympique Marseille, Beckham took one of his trademark free-kicks, bending it over the wall and into the net. It was his first for the Spanish team in a competitive European game, and the club's six hundredth goal in the European Cup - the one hundredth was scored by Alfredo Di Stefano.

Not, of course, as much as Julia Roberts or David Beckham or Robbie Williams, but he found he wasn’t really bothered about that. He was, after all, basically a simple, modest person at heart. Doing a short but honest day’s work, doing it well and earning a revoltingly large amount of money would suit him very nicely.

The only time you stop run out of chances is when you stop taking them

Chapter 12 Numbers ‘I asked whether the number 28 shirt, which I wore at Sporting Lisbon, was available. Alex Ferguson said to me, “No no, yours is the number 7.” “Ok boss!” I replied. I wasn’t going to say to him, “No no, mine is the number 28.”’ Cristiano Ronaldo describes how he came to wear the famous number 7 at Manchester United, worn by all the great Red Devils players before him: George Best, Steve Coppel, Bryan Robson, Eric Cantona and David Beckham. But how did such a young new signing get to don such an important shirt number in the club’s history? Here’s how Sir Alex explains the motives behind his decision to the press: ‘We have given Ronaldo this shirt

Beckham River,” Amelia says. I stop cooing and stare down at Amelia in shock. “River is his middle name. And David and I would be really honoured if you’d be his god mother.” “I love you, River.” “I love you, too, Amelia.

Who was this guy who dressed like David Beckham, was built like the Rock, and quoted fucking Maya Angelou, anyway? And why couldn’t I seem to get him off my mind?

Her eyes went to the package just below his waist. He really did fill out those boxer briefs nicely. In fact, he could easily be a model for men’s underwear. Move over, David Beckham.

One night we’re lying in bed. In my new bed in the house in Highgate I’m to share with the boys. She utters to me words that have stayed with me for ever. ‘I really like you but I wish you looked more like David Beckham.

A handful of individual football stars—not necessarily the most talented, but those boasting good looks, beautiful wives and an animated private life—assumed a role in European public life and popular newspapers hitherto reserved for movie starlets or minor royalty. When David Beckham (an English player of moderate technical gifts but an unsurpassed talent for self-promotion) moved from Manchester United to Real Madrid in 2003, it made headline television news in every member-state of the European Union. Beckham’s embarrassing performance at the European Football Championships in Portugal the following year—the England captain missed two penalties, hastening his country’s ignominious early departure—did little to dampen the enthusiasm of his fans.

HENRY CLIMBED INTO my truck and buckled his seatbelt with the grimmest expression I had ever seen. His hair stood out in every direction, and his hands shook. “You okay, buddy?” I asked, trying to be gentle. “Do you want to go see Robin instead? She’d be glad to cut it, Henry.” Millie had followed him out, tapping her way down the sidewalk with a concerned frown between her dark brows. She now stood holding onto the passenger side door. I could tell she wanted to ride along, but Henry didn’t seem to want her to. “It’s a man date, right Henry? Men go to the barber. Not the salon.” Henry tapped his fingertips together nervously and wouldn’t look right or left. “Kite flying is an official sport in Thailand!” Henry blurted. Amelie bit her lip but stepped back from the passenger door. “Bye, Millie. I’ll bring him back. Don’t worry,” I called. She nodded and tried to smile, and I pulled away from the curb. Henry’s tapping became a cadence. Clack clack. Click click. It sounded like the rhythm Millie made with her stick when she walked. “Henry?” No response. Just clicking, all the way to the barbershop. I pulled up to Leroy’s shop and put my truck in park. I jumped out and came around to Henry’s door. Henry made no move to disembark. “Henry? Do you want to do this?” Henry looked pointedly at my shaggy locks and clicked his fingers. “I need a haircut, Henry. So do you. We’re men. We can do this.” “Ben Askren, Roger Federer, Shaun White, Troy Polamalu, David Beckham, Triple H.” “Triple H?” I started to laugh. Henry was listing athletes with long hair. “You’re getting desperate, Henry.” “Larry Fitzgerald? Tim Lincecum?” “Tim Lincecum, huh? He plays for the Giants, doesn’t he? Your favorite team, right?” Henry didn’t respond. “Ah, shit. What the hell. I didn’t want to cut my hair anyway. I kind of think your sister likes it.” The clicking slowed. “You wanna go buy a kite? I hear it’s an official sport in Thailand,” I said. Henry smiled the smallest ghost of a smile and nodded once.

We are a small country, but we're a great one too. A country of Shakespeare, Churchill, the Beatles, Sean Connery, Harry Potter, David Beckham's right foot - and David Beckham's left foot.

Or do you have a disappointingly high voice like David Beckham?

Queen Victoria died in the same century as Victoria Adams married David Beckham

Then again, I didn’t really know who was a big deal in the UK – apart from the royals, David Beckham and the occasional film or music star who’d successfully crossed the Atlantic.

Once your hair and makeup are done, you’ll slip into your first look. It will most definitely be one of the dresses that didn’t even come close to fitting you, so Lot’s Wife will bridge the gap with a thick piece of white elastic and some safety pins. Don’t ever feel inadequate when you look at magazines. Just remember that every person you see on a cover has a bra and underwear hanging out a gaping hole in the back. Everyone. Heidi Klum, the Olsen Twins, David Beckham, everybody.

You have written a fancy book, I did not read.

ANDRES INIESTA - SPAIN   (No matter what they say six is better than seven)   5. DAVID BECKHAM - ENGLAND   (High five!)   4. KAKA - BRAZIL   (I'm number four on the list but number one in your heart)   3. DIEGO MARADONA - ARGENTINA   (I'm the trifecta!)   2. LIONEL MESSI - ARGENTINA   (Watch out I'm right behind you.)   1. PELE - BRAZIL   (Knock knock, who's there? Best, Best who, Best Ever)

Don’t ever feel inadequate when you look at magazines. Just remember that every person you see on a cover has a bra and underwear hanging out a gaping hole in the back. Everyone. Heidi Klum, the Olsen Twins, David Beckham, everybody.

Karla found me as a pup in a pet store over at the town center, barely a mile from here. She said I was special and stood out from the crowd. Compared to the other uglies they had behind bars there, of course I was irresistible. When I walked in the front door for the first time I was welcomed with open arms, except for Matt who stepped on my foot. He gets a pass on that one since he wasn't yet a year old. I'm lucky to have such a good family to live with. Of course, there are areas of improvement I've identified for each of them, but since I can't write or talk, the odds of getting my recommended changes implemented are nonexistent. For me, as long as I don't pee on the carpet I'm meeting standards. They call me Beckham after David Beckham, the superstar soccer player.

All right. I’m going to go find us some alcohol. Then we need to talk about this Nico I’ve been hearing about.” “Check out the bloodstain on the patio. That’s all there is to tell,” I told her. “That’s not what I’ve heard. Mamma said he’s hotter than David Beckham.” “I don’t know who that is.” “You’re living under a rock, Elena. Too many books, not enough TV.” “The quote of the century.