Trash Treasure Quotes

A fine glass vase goes from treasure to trash, the moment it is broken. Fortunately, something else happens to you and me. Pick up your pieces. Then, help me gather mine.

When God takes out the trash, don't go digging back through it. Trust Him.

Ours is a culture and a time immensely rich in trash as it is in treasures.

For the first three months, I place each student at a table with a thousand pieces of white paper and a trash can underneath. Every day they have to sit at the table for several hours and write ideas. They put the ideas they like on the right side of the table; the ones they don’t like, they put in the trash. But we don’t throw out the trash. After three months, I only take the ideas from the trash can. I don’t even look at the ideas they liked. Because the trash can is a treasure trove of things they’re afraid to do.

One man's trash is another man's treasure is a third man's raw materials for their planet-buster earthquake machine.

In between trash and treasure.

I have lived nearly fifty years, and I have seen life as it is. Pain, misery, hunger ... cruelty beyond belief. I have heard the singing from taverns and the moans from bundles of filth on the streets. I have been a soldier and seen my comrades fall in battle ... or die more slowly under the lash in Africa. I have held them in my arms at the final moment. These were men who saw life as it is, yet they died despairing. No glory, no gallant last words ... only their eyes filled with confusion, whimpering the question, "Why?" I do not think they asked why they were dying, but why they had lived. When life itself seems lunatic, who knows where madness lies? Perhaps to be too practical is madness. To surrender dreams — this may be madness. To seek treasure where there is only trash. Too much sanity may be madness — and maddest of all: to see life as it is, and not as it should be!

These things you treasure, how often they're somebody else's trash.

This is my life now. Absurd, but unpredictable. Not absurd because unpredictable but unpredictable because absurd. If I have lost the meaning of my life, I might still find small treasured things among the spilled and pilfered trash.

One organism’s trash is another organism’s treasure, as I like to say.

It takes a mere second for treasure to turn to trash.

Don't lose a treasure while looking for trash.

f you are too good to look after God’s trash, you are not good enough to look after God’s treasure.

Another Person's trash is another person's treasure.

To gain the treasure, you must leave the trash.

Poshlust,” or in a better transliteration poshlost, has many nuances, and evidently I have not described them clearly enough in my little book on Gogol, if you think one can ask anybody if he is tempted by poshlost. Corny trash, vulgar clichés, Philistinism in all its phases, imitations of imitations, bogus profundities, crude, moronic, and dishonest pseudo-literature—these are obvious examples. Now, if we want to pin down poshlost in contemporary writing, we must look for it in Freudian symbolism, moth-eaten mythologies, social comment, humanistic messages, political allegories, overconcern with class or race, and the journalistic generalities we all know. Poshlost speaks in such concepts as “America is no better than Russia” or “We all share in Germany’s guilt.” The flowers of poshlost bloom in such phrases and terms as “the moment of truth,” “charisma,” “existential” (used seriously), “dialogue” (as applied to political talks between nations), and “vocabulary” (as applied to a dauber). Listing in one breath Auschwitz, Hiroshima, and Vietnam is seditious poshlost. Belonging to a very select club (which sports one Jewish name—that of the treasurer) is genteel poshlost. Hack reviews are frequently poshlost, but it also lurks in certain highbrow essays. Poshlost calls Mr. Blank a great poet and Mr. Bluff a great novelist. One of poshlost’s favorite breeding places has always been the Art Exhibition; there it is produced by so-called sculptors working with the tools of wreckers, building crankshaft cretins of stainless steel, Zen stereos, polystyrene stinkbirds, objects trouvés in latrines, cannonballs, canned balls. There we admire the gabinetti wall patterns of so-called abstract artists, Freudian surrealism, roric smudges, and Rorschach blots—all of it as corny in its own right as the academic “September Morns” and “Florentine Flowergirls” of half a century ago. The list is long, and, of course, everybody has his bête noire, his black pet, in the series. Mine is that airline ad: the snack served by an obsequious wench to a young couple—she eyeing ecstatically the cucumber canapé, he admiring wistfully the hostess. And, of course, Death in Venice. You see the range.

How do you sort the treasure from the trash? When does something move from sentimental to disposable? And if you think you are ready to part with it, are you really? If you throw it away today, will you regret it tomorrow? Or will it be something you never think about again?

Past shouldn't always be treasured, because Present and Future become trashed.

Before you dismiss any gift as worthless, look again because it may just contain hidden treasure.

I wish trash were treasure, because then I’d be a garbage collector and king.

What counts as too much stuff? When do overflowing cardboard boxes spill into insanity? What is useless trash and what is valuable treasure?

One man’s trash is another man’s treasure.” It you’re not using it, release it graciously to someone else—and make some money at the same time.

Don't lose a treasure while looking for trash. Appreciate your woman.

one man’s trash is another man’s treasure.

Real treasure is not about what we want. Rather, it’s about what we need. And until we get those in the right order, we will continue to use treasure to create trash heaps.

The garbage can is for things that have no importance. If it did have some value, it no longer has any.

To be happy keep the treasures and throw out the trash.

it took me years to realize that every piece of treasure he ever gave me was trash.

I’ve realized people can live in a world they’ve personally constructed through a distorted lens of guilt and shame, whether they deserve it or not.

Poetry is not a lost art. Poetry is better than ever. Of course you’ve got the usual gang of idiots (as the Mad magazine staff writers used to call themselves) hiding in the thickets, folks who have gotten pretension and genius all confused, but there are also many brilliant practitioners of the art out there. Check the literary magazines at your local bookstore, if you don’t believe me. For every six crappy poems you read, you’ll actually find one or two good ones. And that, believe me, is a very acceptable ratio of trash to treasure. The

Ours is a culture and a time immensely rich in trash as it is in treasures. Sometimes it is a little hard to tell the trash from the treasure, so we hold back, afraid to declare ourselves.

Many a person thinks that he or she has stolen treasure—in the form of a thing, or a boyfriend, girlfriend, husband, or wife—from someone who thinks that he or she has been relieved of trash.

the older man put one hand on Joe’s shoulder, his expression serious as he focused his attention on Joe. “Son, a good woman is hard to find and a priceless treasure. Never forget God’s gift to you or His grace, and always turn to Him in times of hardship. Be her friend, her biggest fan and supporter, and always, always take out the trash, and if you want brownie points, offer to do the dishes.

The gods do not know love because they cannot imagine an end to anything they enjoy. Their passions do not burn brightly as a mortal's passions do, because they can have whatever they desire for the rest of eternity. How could they cherish or treasure anything? Nothing to them is more than a passing amusement and when they have done with it, there will be another and another and another, until the end of time itself. Their heroes do not know love because they only value what they can measure - the mountains they make of their enemies' bones, the vast piles of treasure they win and the immortal verses are sung in their name. They see only fame and are blind to the rewards that only human life can offer, which they simply toss aside like trash. They are all fools.

Their heroes do not know love because they only value what they can measure–the mountains they make of their enemies' bones, the vast piles of treasure they win, and the immortal verses that are sung in their name. They see only fame and are blind to the rewards that only human life can offer, which they simply toss aside like trash. They are fools.' ... Theseus had not left me because I was at fault or because I did not matter. He had left because, to him, nothing mattered at all beyond the cold pursuit of his own fame. I would not let a man who knew the value of nothing make me doubt the value of myself.

Our lives are far more important than they may seem. Our legacies have the capacity to be treasures to cherish or trash to bury. We can affect the course of someone else’s life by our actions, by our words, by our efforts. Jesus in us can make the glorious impact a treasure. Left to our own devices, we contribute little more than good intentions.

You ever see that show Storage Wars?” Cooper asked and I shook my head. “These guys bid on abandoned storage lockers. Lots of times, these lockers are full of trash. Sometimes though, they have hidden treasures. That’s what you are. The hidden treasure in the trash of your crap family. You have value and I don’t want you to think otherwise.” “That’s how you see me?” I said, smiling up at him. “As treasure?” “Of course. You’re irreplaceable.

Fine Knacks for Ladies Fine knacks for ladies, cheap, choice, brave and new! Good pennyworths! but money cannot move. I keep a fair but for the fair to view. A beggar may be liberal of love, Though all my wares be trash, the heart is true. Great gifts are guiles and look for gifts again; My trifles come as treasures from the mind. It is a precious jewel to be plain; Sometimes in shell the Orient’s pearls we find. Of others take a sheaf, of me a grain. Within this pack pins points laces and gloves, And diverse toys fitting a country fair. But in my heart, where duty serves and loves, Turtles and twins, court’s brood, a heavenly pair. Happy the heart that thinks of no removes!

Inside a wool jacket the man had made a pocket for the treasure and from time to time he would jiggle the pocket, just to make sure that it was still there. And when on the train he rode to work he would jiggle it there also, but he would disguise his jiggling of the treasure on the train by devising a distraction. For example, the man would pretend to be profoundly interested in something outside the train, such as the little girl who seemed to be jumping high up on a trampoline, just high enough so that she could spy the man on the train, and in this way he really did become quite interested in what occurred outside the train, although he would still jiggle the treasure, if only out of habit. Also on the train he'd do a crossword puzzle and check his watch by rolling up his sleeve; when he did so he almost fell asleep. Antoine often felt his life to be more tedious with this treasure, because in order not to be overly noticed he had deemed it wise to fall into as much a routine as possible and do everything as casually as possible, and so, as a consequence, despite the fact that he hated his wife and daughter, he didn't leave them, he came home to them every night and he ate the creamed chicken that his wife would prepare for him, he would accept the large, fleshy hand that would push him around while he sat around in his house in an attempt to read or watch the weather, he took out the trash, he got up on time every morning and took a quick, cold shower, he shaved, he accepted the cold eggs and orange juice and coffee, he picked the newspaper off the patio and took it inside with him to read her the top headlines, and of course he went to the job.

Young developing leaves on normal trees are often tinged red thanks to a kind of sun block in their delicate tissue. This is anthocyanin, which blocks ultraviolet rays to protect the little leaves. As the leaves grow, the anthocyanin is broken down with the help of an enzyme. A few beeches or maples deviate from the norm because they lack this enzyme. They cannot get rid of the red color, and they retain it even in their mature leaves. Therefore, their leaves strongly reflect red light and waste a considerable portion of the light’s energy. Of course, they still have the blue tones in the spectrum for photosynthesis, but they are not achieving the same levels of photosynthesis as their green-leaved relatives. These red trees keep appearing in Nature, but they never get established and always disappear again. Humans, however, love anything that is different, and so we seek out red varieties and propagate them. One man’s trash is another man’s treasure is one way to describe this behavior, which might stop if people knew more about the trees’ circumstances.

There was no time during the rebellion when I did not think, and often say, that the South was more to be benefited by its defeat than the North. The latter had the people, the institutions, and the territory to make a great and prosperous nation. The former was burdened with an institution abhorrent to all civilized people not brought up under it, and one which degraded labor, kept it in ignorance, and enervated the governing class. With the outside world at war with this institution, they could not have extended their territory. The labor of the country was not skilled, nor allowed to become so. The whites could not toil without becoming degraded, and those who did were denominated “poor white trash.” The system of labor would have soon exhausted the soil and left the people poor. The non-slaveholders would have left the country, and the small slaveholder must have sold out to his more fortunate neighbor. Soon the slaves would have outnumbered the masters, and, not being in sympathy with them, would have risen in their might and exterminated them. The war was expensive to the South as well as to the North, both in blood and treasure, but it was worth all it cost.

People's curses will become your clue to win. The trash they think you have will become the treasure for greatness they will plead to enjoy! You will understand this better by and by!

Dr. Sullivan never asked me about Carl. Even if he had, I would have given him the same filtered explanation that any other child would have. Children are often like hostages under the care of authority, with spankings and groundings nudging them like guns pointed at their skulls, threatening to shoot if the wrong words are uttered. Even if I had trusted Dr. Sullivan, I didn’t have a grip on the reality of Carl. My stepfather wasn’t a villain. Yes, he was an alcoholic. He was chronically selfish and flamboyant with his money. He was negligent. He was a cliché trailer salesman with a silver tongue that made trash seem like treasure. He was highly inappropriate in ways that, without him even knowing, would permanently tatter my developing mind. But none of these flaws were potent enough to do the real damage. Carl never loved me. I think he wanted to. And I think by his standards, he tried. Carl did everything for me that would pass him as a socially acceptable parent. But a child can hear silent rejection.

God actually uses these weaknesses, sins, and crutches in our lives to further his mission to show to the World that God can turn what people deem TRASH, into TREASURE.

The very things that your last mate treated like trash, your God-sent mate will treat like treasure. Your days of being mistreated, used, and abused, are over.

Your average PI collects information much like a garbage man collects trash but without the perks. When garbage men find treasures among the trash, it’s finders keepers. But when PIs find treasures, they belong to someone else.

Objet d'Fart 'One Man's Trash is Another Man's Treasure' should be the sign posted in front of every antique store full of shit.

We often hear users say “there’s so much clutter” in an interface. Yet, everything in an interface was put there by someone for some reason, whether warranted or not. One user’s trash is another user’s treasure. One shopper’s clutter is a marketer’s sale promotion insert.

People can choose to treasure those parts of their heritage that they see as favorable and wish to keep, jettisoning what unpleasant truths they would prefer to forget.

In everything that I’ve left behind there lays everything that I need to move ahead. Therefore, the past need not be a trash-heap. Rather, it can be a treasure-trove.

The sun hung low (for some reason, I’m craving Chinese food as I write this!) as I headed over to Junk ’n’ Stuff, housed in a rather decrepit two-story building at the end of Antiques Drive.

Awesome is used nowadays for the most mundane things, which emasculates the term. Among “awesome” occurrences would be a shooting star, a dog that could talk, or my bunions not hurting after a long walk. So let’s put the awe back in awesome!

It turns out one man's trash isn't always another man's treasure. Sometimes it's still trash.

A descent into an unlit place from which there is no escape, an underwater labyrinth of impossible mazes. No ghosts floating around down there with writing utensils hidden under their white eyehole sheets. I prefer to either drown like a cockroach in the toilet, or swim the English Channel like a hero. I may well be an eleven-fingered oaf slobbering over a typewriter, pounding out a thorny jumble of trash, an uneducated animal who runs on instinct and feeling. But this is my voice. The facts and figures aren’t important to me, the colors and shapes that make up my world are; they are who I am, right or wrong. The limits of my memory are their own reward. Like Rashomon, the same thing looks different to everyone from their angle. The greatest fault of humankind belongs to those who think their view of what’s real is the only truth. I can only write and hope. Hope to arise from the muddy depths of this process, clear and cleansed, laser beams shooting from my eyeballs, holding the sunken treasure aloft, resplendent in silver and gold, an ebullient grin plastered on my face, and sea monsters docile at my feet.

One man’s trash is another man’s treasure. And that is true not only of things but also of experiences and problems.

The greatest gifts are not the things that please us. Rather, they are the things that grow us. Therefore, we may have gladly received an abundance of possessions, but we may not have accepted a single gift.

One person’s trash is another person’s treasure, try to remember that when people treat you like trash.

Amidst the world’s trash is sometimes where you will find God’s treasure.

The true challenge of charity is not in the gifting of your trash but of your treasure, not your worst but your best.

Yard and garage sales mean someone else hopes their trash will become your treasure.

Trash?" echoed Cadfael, mildly and thoughtfully. "Oh, pleasant to have, and useful, I know. But once you have enough of it for your needs, the rest of it is trash. Can you eat it, wear it, ride it, keep off the rain and the cold with it, read it, play music on it, make love to it?

There was no time during the rebellion when I did not think, and often say, that the South was more to be benefited by its defeat than the North. The latter had the people, the institutions, and the territory to make a great and prosperous nation. The former was burdened with an institution abhorrent to all civilized people not brought up under it, and one which degraded labor, kept it in ignorance, and enervated the governing class. With the outside world at war with this institution, they could not have extended their territory. The labor of the country was not skilled, nor allowed to become so. The whites could not toil without becoming degraded, and those who did were denominated "poor white trash." The system of labor would have soon exhausted the soil and left the people poor. The non-slaveholders would have left the country, and the small slaveholder must have sold out to his more fortunate neighbor. Soon the slaves would have outnumbered the masters, and, not being in sympathy with them, would have risen in their might and exterminated them. The war was expensive to the South as well as to the North, both in blood and treasure, but it was worth all it cost.

We trudge along the uneven streets until Alex, who’s running ahead, directs us to a pile of good trash. It looks like someone was evicted—the contents of their whole apartment have been dumped on the street to be picked over, just as ours will be one day soon. Black plastic bags are piled into treasure mounds studded with bulky items too big for the bags. We are early, and most of the bags are still tied so we know the pickings are good, but we aren’t the only lookers. Other people are passing by, hoping for good finds, and some grab specialty items, like electronics or materials that they can resell, but we recognize the ones who are like us, whole families here to look for necessities they would otherwise go without. They are our primary competition, so we quickly divide and conquer to get the best stuff. I spot potential around the corner and hurry toward a box of books. Up close, they turn out to be old books with leather bindings. Mom has taught us all to read. Sometimes she makes us read to her for long stretches without stopping. I can’t always follow the story, but I like how it calms her. I want all of the books, but we need to save room in the cart for practical items, so I settle for one.

We trudge along the uneven streets until Alex, who’s running ahead, directs us to a pile of good trash. It looks like someone was evicted—the contents of their whole apartment have been dumped on the street to be picked over, just as ours will be one day soon. Black plastic bags are piled into treasure mounds studded with bulky items too big for the bags. We are early, and most of the bags are still tied so we know the pickings are good, but we aren’t the only lookers. Other people are passing by, hoping for good finds, and some grab specialty items, like electronics or materials that they can resell, but we recognize the ones who are like us, whole families here to look for necessities they would otherwise go without. They are our primary competition, so we quickly divide and conquer to get the best stuff. I spot potential around the corner and hurry toward a box of books. Up close, they turn out to be old books with leather bindings. Mom has taught us all to read. Sometimes she makes us read to her for long stretches without stopping. I can’t always follow the story, but I like how it calms her. I want all of the books, but we need to save room in the cart for practical items, so I settle for one…I know better than to get too excited about any find, and we never get attached. We went through this back in January, and a few months before that. When we move again, we will leave our treasures behind. The book in the cart might prove interesting or be so mildewed that it’s unreadable, but the one thing I know for sure is that I won’t get to keep it.

One drug that we do find helpful for assisting with sleep is trazodone, a fairly old anti-depressant (approved in 1981) that never really took off. At the doses used to treat depression, two hundred to three hundred milligrams per day, it had the unwanted side effect of causing users to fall asleep. But one man’s trash is another man’s treasure. That side effect is what we want in a sleep medication, especially if it also improves sleep architecture, which is exactly what trazodone does—and most other sleep meds do not.[*4] We typically use it at much lower doses, from one hundred milligrams down to fifty milligrams or even less; the optimal dosing depends on the individual, but the goal is to find the amount that improves their sleep quality without next-day grogginess. (We have also had good results with the supplement ashwagandha.) —

Was he made out of stone or bronze?” sniped Kaiyo. “Neither,” replied Storm. “He was a member of a special force of art historians who, near the end of World War II, risked their lives trying to prevent the Nazis from destroying thousands of years of art and culture.” “And,” added Tommy, striking a double-guns bodybuilder pose, “if anybody in this room wants to trash-talk my great-grandfather, bring it on. I am made out of stone.” “So am I,” said Kirk. “I also have buns of steel.” “Okay. Let me, uh, rephrase my warning. If anybody in this room who isn’t Kirk wants to trash-talk my great-grandfather…

it is a shame that so many beautiful places have become immensely popular within the past 3-4 years...they are being plastered all over the internet making people want to go and see them, especially photographers...and its a further shame that so many photographers only want to take pictures, with the goal to share to their social media sites and get likes, sponsors, and money...ironically how before that, like just 4 years ago, you seldom saw many images of unknown places, and most people had no clue where these spots where...now these special places are becoming less unique as they get more and more coverage and exposure, becoming less and less mystical to the art-world... it is also a further shame how many of these photographers only care about themselves and getting their picture at any cost, including the cost of damaging their natural surroundings with their ignorance...and my god, the stuff i have seen them do and leave behind in their wake is appalling...and more and more all the reason for why i will not disclose anymore the places where i go now that are unknown treasures which i have been discovering, so these new photo sites do not ever have to become overrun like so many other beautiful places have regrettably become, all due to inconsiderate and selfish people with their selfish cameras and cellphones, and selfish actions, those annoying people out there who are merely like pesky fleas to a very beautiful location, sucking the blood and life out of it slowly... i feel partially to blame, as i used to always give people locations of my photo comps, so many of the places not many knew about and were rarely visited, let alone photographed...there were spots i photographed over 5 years ago, and now many of these sites are overrun with greed and stupidity, getting trashed, tagged, and overrun. i know i am not directly to blame, but i was part of the problem even though i was only trying to help out other courteous photographers, but in the process of doing just that, the door opened to the ugly people looking to use others and use places for their own greedy intentions...i would even give them the gps to within 5 feet of the spot if they asked me...i was always so open and as helpful as i could be...also gave out all my camera settings and told how i went about creating my impressions with my equipment and thoughts about the composition... now look what has happened...i am not to blame, but i do carry much of the responsibility as word got out to these previously secluded locations...so now, i want no part of it anymore. and even-though now i often get called selfish and mean for not disclosing my locations, i must do what i feel is necessary to protect what i love and the places i love.

She said this beautiful thing to me about how life was a house that God had built for you, and he knew what was in each room but you didn't - and behind every door there was a discovery to be made, and some rooms were full of treasure and some with trash but all rooms were of God's design - and at this point, this many years later, I have to wonder if it isn't more accurate to say that life is a series of trap doors, and you fall through them, one by one, tumbling down and down and down, one hole to the next.

Books were her first and truest love for good reason. They never disappointed her when people so often did.

That was the price of freedom, for freedom always carries a fee. ‘Give us your trash, and we shall make treasure,’ they said atop skulls of infants and thieves.

Yo momma's so tall when I tell her to bend over she's still taller than me. Yo momma's so tall, she did a push-up and burned her back on the sun. Yo momma's so tall she went to Leeds and her legs were still at home. Yo momma's so tall she called the Ocean a kitty pool. Yo momma's so tall, she can see her house from anywhere. Yo momma's so tall when she jump in the sky it hit jesus' balls. Yo momma's so tall she could "69" big foot. Yo momma's so tall she has to take a bath in Niagra falls. Yo Momma's so Stupid   Yo momma's so stupid, she told me everything she knows during a commercial break. Yo momma's so stupid, that if I need a brain transplant I'll take hers, because it's barely been used. Yo momma's so stupid she sent me a fax with a stamp on it. Yo momma's so stupid. She went to the eye doctor to buy an iPad. Yo momma's so stupid she threw the clock out the window to see time fly! Yo momma's so stupid she took a spoon to the superbowl. Yo momma's so stupid, if her brain was chocolate it wouldn't fill a M&M. Yo momma's so stupid if you stand close enough to her you can hear the ocean. Yo momma's so stupid, the smartest thing to come out of her mouth was a penis. Yo momma's so stupid, the government banned her from homeschooling her kids. Yo momma's so stupid, she's the reason women only make 75 cents on the dollar. Yo momma's so stupid, she filled her car with water so she can drive in the Car Pool lane. Yo momma's so stupid, I would ask her how old she is, but I know she can't count that high. Yo momma's so stupid she called Dan Quayle for a spell check. Yo momma's so stupid she put cheese on my dad because he's a cracker. Yo momma's so stupid she stepped on a crack and broke her own back. Yo momma's so stupid she makes Beavis and Butt-Head look like Nobel Prize winners. Yo momma's so stupid she got locked in a grocery store and starved to death. Yo momma's so stupid she tripped over a cordless phone. Yo momma's so Stupid when i said One mans trash is another mans Treasure she jump in a trash bin. Yo momma's so stupid she spent 20 minutes looking at the orange juice box because it said "concentrate". Yo momma's so stupid she thought she needed a token to get on Soul Train.

itself. The bypass was originally conceived with no

this stuff runs counter to the ways people think. It says up is down and trash is treasure. He begins to introduce us to the great kingdom paradox: at the end of me, I find real life in him.

In a world where one man’s trash is another man’s treasure, I’d argue that the first man wasn’t thinking creatively enough about his trash.

If you are too good to look after God’s trash, you are not good enough to look after God’s treasure.

His greatest mistake was believing that wealth would make him a part of that world. That it would fundamentally change him into someone else. He knew what it was like to be hungry. To wear clothes until they withered and fell from his body. To collect the scraps and trash from other people's lives and view it as a treasure. He saw money as the only barrier between what they were, and what he was not.

Never forget that it is easy to feel like a treasure amidst a dump yard. Bravery is willing to be the trash in a museum.

Yo mama is so ugly… they had to feed her with a Frisbee! Yo mama is so ugly… when she watches TV the channels change themselves! Yo mama is so ugly… she looks like she has been bobbing for apples in hot grease! Yo mama is so ugly… they passed a law saying she could only do online shopping! Yo mama is so ugly… she looked in the mirror and her reflection committed suicide! Yo mama is so ugly… even homeless people won’t take her money! Yo mama is so ugly… she’s the reason blind dates were invented! Yo mama is so ugly… even a pit-bull wouldn’t bite her! Yo mama is so ugly… she scares the paint off the wall! Yo mama is so ugly… she scares roaches away! Yo mama is so ugly… she looked out the window and got arrested! Yo mama is so ugly… she had to get a prescription mirror! Yo mama is so ugly… bullets refuse to kill her! Yo mama is so ugly… for Halloween she trick-or-treats on the phone! Yo mama is so ugly… when she plays Mortal Kombat, Scorpion says, “Stay over there!” Yo mama is so ugly… I told her to take out the trash and we never saw her again! Yo mama is so ugly… even Hello Kitty said goodbye! Yo mama is so ugly… even Rice Krispies won't talk to her! Yo mama is so ugly… that your father takes her to work with him so that he doesn't have to kiss her goodbye. Yo mama is so ugly… she made the Devil go to church! Yo mama is so ugly… she made an onion cry. Yo mama is so ugly… when she walks down the street in September, people say “Wow, is it Halloween already?” Yo mama is so ugly… she is the reason that Sonic the Hedgehog runs! Yo mama is so ugly… The NHL banned her for life. Yo mama is so ugly… she scared the crap out of a toilet! Yo mama is so ugly… she turned Medusa to stone! Yo mama is so ugly… her pillow cries at night! Yo mama is so ugly… she tried to take a bath and the water jumped out! Yo mama is so ugly… she gets 364 extra days to dress up for Halloween. Yo mama is so ugly… people put pictures of her on their car to prevent theft! Yo mama is so ugly… her mother had to be drunk to breast feed her! Yo mama is so ugly… instead of putting the bungee cord around her ankle, they put it around her neck. Yo mama is so ugly… when they took her to the beautician it took 24 hours for a quote! Yo mama is so ugly… they didn't give her a costume when she tried out for Star Wars. Yo mama is so ugly… just after she was born, her mother said, “What a treasure!” And her father said, “Yes, let's go bury it!” Yo mama is so ugly… her mom had to tie a steak around her neck to get the dogs to play with her. Yo mama is so ugly… when she joined an ugly contest, they said, “Sorry, no professionals.” Yo mama is so ugly… they had to feed her with a slingshot! Yo mama is so ugly… that she scares blind people! Yo mama is so ugly… when she walks into a bank they turn off the surveillance cameras. Yo mama is so ugly… she got beat up by her imaginary friends! Yo mama is so ugly… the government moved Halloween to her birthday.

What you tell yourself as the result of abuse is usually worse than the real truth.

Worthlessness frequently nullifies humility, because people who feel unworthy generally don’t do anything that leads them to be modest about.

A problem cannot be solved without understanding it.

A person can influence a situation or the situation can influence a person.

We cannot do for others what they’re unwilling to do for themselves.

My childhood was hurtful enough but a church hurt leaves lasting detrimental wounds associated with a place of refuge.

Oftentimes people unintentionally become who they think they are, through the mistreatment of others.

You know what they say, one man’s trash is another man’s treasure. What you deemed useless and blemished, I regard as valuable and a fucking marvel. But I should actually thank you, Coach, because the trash you left on the sidewalk is my perfect treasure. I love every beautiful flaw, every imperfection on that

There was no time during the rebellion when I did not think, and often say, that the South was more to be benefited by its defeat than the North. The latter had the people, the institutions, and the territory to make a great and prosperous nation. The former was burdened with an institution abhorrent to all civilized people not brought up under it, and one which degraded labor, kept it in ignorance, and enervated the governing class. With the outside world at war with this institution, they could not have extended their territory. The labor of the country was not skilled, nor allowed to become so. The whites could not toil without becoming degraded, and those who did were denominated “poor white trash.” The system of labor would have soon exhausted the soil and left the people poor. The non-slave-holders would have left the country, and the small slave-holder must have sold out to his more fortunate neighbor. Soon the slaves would have outnumbered the masters, and, not being in sympathy with them, would have risen in their might and exterminated them. The war was expensive to the South as well as to the North, both in blood and treasure, but it was worth all it cost.