I love it when I see my quilts being loved and used.
When I was little, my siblings and I would beg for a particular quilt my grandmother made. It was, fittingly enough, a grandmother's flower garden and it was hand pieced and hand quilted. We really wanted it when we were sick and I can't count the number of times someone threw up on that quilt. After about 45 years, that quilt is in tatters, but we each still love it.
Some might call that abuse, but we called it love.