“What do you think she wants with a scratched, broken, cheap toy like you? Do you expect to come and live in her playhouse with us? Look round you and think again!”
“The little wooden horse knew that he was not so handsome now as in those days. The paint had worn off his red saddle; his blue stripes were scratched and bare; his four green wheels had travelled so far they were nearly worn out; but he hoped that the little girl would not notice these things.”
“It’s a funny world! Here I am, a quiet little horse who only wants to serve his master and stay by his side, flung into the forest, tossed into a ditch, hurled over the roof! Who knows what will happen to me next?”