Quid

[…]; but what is the quo for which they ought to give the quid? you say they ought to give a quid pro quo; what is the quo? […]; did not they give you a pretty handsome quid for the quo there?

Indeed, asymmetry precludes the possibility of pointing to any particular quo that is meant to recompense the quid. […]If there exists any kind of inequity between quid and quo, then—on this line of argument—the expansive category of “friendship” emerges to account for it, siphoning the situation away from the class of objectionable quid pro quo. The claim officials here make—that for a quid to have a quo there must be some equivalency between the two—draws theoretical sustenance from the objective, exclusionary approach that critics of classical contract law apply to disproportionate exchanges.

Corruption, the Court declared in Buckley v. Valeo, involves a quid pro quo: an officeholder doing something in office in return for money or some other favor provided by another individual or entity (for our purposes, a corporation). The problem, however, is that in principle there can be a quid—the money or favor offered by the business to the official—and a quo—the action taken by the official that benefits the business—without any clear evidence of a pro, that is, that the two are connected.[…]The “pro,” the connection between quid and quo, might take place only inside the minds of the official and businessperson concerned.

It is hard to pull off a quid pro quo if the holder of the quo doesn’t know about the quid.

They invited him to come to-morrow, […] and bring half a quid with him.

Seven quid for a toastie? Are you taking the mick?!

Forty quid a fuckin ticket. No shy they British Rail cunts, ah kin fuckin tell ye.

The ride costs exactly fifteen quid, but that doesn't include the tip, and bitter is two pounds a pint.

When I worked in a toyshop, I once bought the manageress a sandwich. Do I still work there? No. Our relationship is, therefore, over. Has she given me the quid back? No.

I have mentioned before how impressed I was when I used a Glasgow suburban train late one Saturday night, when I reached Queen Street the barriers were closed and I had to cough up a princely couple of quid before being allowed through.

Then he lay quiet for a little, and then, pulling out a stick of tobacco, begged me to cut him a quid.

He broke off to open a small brass tobacco-box and place a little quid of tobacco tenderly into a pouch in his left cheek, […]

Ah! the pig-tailed, quidding pirates and the pretty pranks we played