Thrown Away Quotes
Quotes tagged as "thrown-away"
Showing 1-5 of 5
![Shannon L. Alder](https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/authors/1647739446i/1391130._UY200_CR33,0,200,200_.jpg)
“When someone you love makes compassion, kindness, forgiveness, respect and God an option, you can be sure they have made you an option, as well.”
―
―
![Shannon L. Alder](https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/authors/1647739446i/1391130._UY200_CR33,0,200,200_.jpg)
“When someone you loved finds no flattery in the gift you gave them then you must ask yourself, "What was worth loving?”
―
―
![Gillian Flynn](https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/authors/1232123231i/2383._UX200_CR0,50,200,200_.jpg)
“I don't feel like a person at all: I am something to be loaded and unloaded, like a sofa or a cuckoo clock. I am something to be tossed into a junkyard, thrown into the river, if necessary. I don't feel real anymore. I feel like I could disappear.”
― Gone Girl
― Gone Girl
![Rudyard Kipling](https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/authors/1550677494i/6989._UX200_CR0,31,200,200_.jpg)
“Good work does not matter, because a man is judged by his worst output and another man takes all the credit of his best as a rule. Bad work does not matter, because other men do worse, and incompetents hang on longer in India than anywhere else. Amusements do not matter, because you must repeat them as soon as you have accomplished them once, and most amusements only mean trying to win another person’s money. Sickness does not matter, because it’s all in the day’s work, and if you die another man takes over your place and your office in the eight hours between death and burial.”
― Plain Tales from the Hills
― Plain Tales from the Hills
![K.J. Dell'Antonia](https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/authors/1635364341i/3944366._UX200_CR0,49,200,200_.jpg)
“Jay got up and walked to the trash to scrape off his plate, but when the trash can popped open, he stopped and reached in. Mae got cold inside. Shit. That was where she had put everything from her satisfying clear-out earlier in the day, and she hadn't covered up the things she was discarding with other trash, as she usually did. Damn it! She knew exactly what was coming. Jay stood up with a ratty stuffed chicken in his hand.
"You can't throw this away. Ryder loves this."
He did, but Mae hated it. The little stuffed chicken---a gift from her sister when Ryder was born---had grown gray and smelly and was beyond washing, and Mae had been able to slip it away from Ryder's bed for several nights running. With the trip, she figured he would forget about it, although she'd felt a tiny twinge of regret as she'd stuffed it into the trash can. It was just that it was so gross now, and there were so many stuffies. If she didn't get rid of them, they'd take over.
"He doesn't care about it. Not really," she said. It sounded weak, even to her. "It's so filthy, Jay. He's little. He'll like other things. It's just junk, anyway."
Jay turned on her. "You don't always get to decide what's junk, Mae. You don't get to pick and choose everything we have and everything we do and everywhere we go."
"I don't. Just---some things. And it's not the same."
Throwing away a toy was not the same as making all their life decisions---and how could she not make decisions right now, when everything Jay wanted to do felt so precarious? Couldn't he see that they wanted the same things, for the world to stay nice and safe and solid around Madison and Ryder and around themselves? She knew Jay had moved around a lot as a kid, and that at least once his dad had handed him a shoebox and told him if it didn't fit in there, it couldn't come. But sometimes you had to get rid of those things, even things you once loved, to make room for better things.
And sometimes you made mistakes. Don't bring up the baseball glove. Don't bring up the baseball glove.
She hadn't known the baseball glove was a perfectly worn-in classic Rawlings. Or that Jay had been hoping Madison or Ryder might use it someday. All she'd seen was that it was old. And kinda moldy. She honestly hadn't thought he would notice it was gone.”
― The Chicken Sisters
"You can't throw this away. Ryder loves this."
He did, but Mae hated it. The little stuffed chicken---a gift from her sister when Ryder was born---had grown gray and smelly and was beyond washing, and Mae had been able to slip it away from Ryder's bed for several nights running. With the trip, she figured he would forget about it, although she'd felt a tiny twinge of regret as she'd stuffed it into the trash can. It was just that it was so gross now, and there were so many stuffies. If she didn't get rid of them, they'd take over.
"He doesn't care about it. Not really," she said. It sounded weak, even to her. "It's so filthy, Jay. He's little. He'll like other things. It's just junk, anyway."
Jay turned on her. "You don't always get to decide what's junk, Mae. You don't get to pick and choose everything we have and everything we do and everywhere we go."
"I don't. Just---some things. And it's not the same."
Throwing away a toy was not the same as making all their life decisions---and how could she not make decisions right now, when everything Jay wanted to do felt so precarious? Couldn't he see that they wanted the same things, for the world to stay nice and safe and solid around Madison and Ryder and around themselves? She knew Jay had moved around a lot as a kid, and that at least once his dad had handed him a shoebox and told him if it didn't fit in there, it couldn't come. But sometimes you had to get rid of those things, even things you once loved, to make room for better things.
And sometimes you made mistakes. Don't bring up the baseball glove. Don't bring up the baseball glove.
She hadn't known the baseball glove was a perfectly worn-in classic Rawlings. Or that Jay had been hoping Madison or Ryder might use it someday. All she'd seen was that it was old. And kinda moldy. She honestly hadn't thought he would notice it was gone.”
― The Chicken Sisters
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