Quotes About Morning

I woke up on my sister's couch with a raging hangover and an urge to kill my wife.

His fingers tugged at the towel. I held tight to it, hard as a dishrag on my breasts, and shook my head. What's this? he whispered into my ear. This is the unforgiving light of morning, I whispered back. Time to drop the illusion. What illusion? That anything can be okay, I said, and kissed his cheek.

Downstairs, I could hear the return of a long-lost sound: Amy making breakfast. Banging wooden cupboards (rump-thump!), rattling containers of tin and glass (ding-ring!), shuffling and sorting a collection of metal pots and iron pans (ruzz-shuzz!). A culinary orchestra tuning up, clattering vigorously toward the finale, a cake pan drumrolling along the floor, hitting the wall with a cymballic crash.

Because every morning you have to wake up and be you.

My eyes flipped open at exactly six A.M. This was no avian fluttering of the lashes, no gentle blink toward consciousness. The awakening was mechanical. A spooky ventriloquist-dummy click of the lids: The world is black and then, showtime! 6-0-0 the clock said -in my face, first thing I saw. 6-0-0. It felt different. I rarely woke at such a rounded time. I was a man of jagged risings: 8:43, 11:51, 9:26. My life was alarmless.

At that exact moment, 6-0-0, the sun climbed over the skyline of oaks, revealing its full summer angry-god self. Its reflection flared across the river toward our house, a long, blaring finger aimed at me through our frail bedroom curtains. Accusing: You have been seen. You will be seen.

My nerves were still singing from the morning.

I'd come to find the morning depressing, to know it would come again and again.

Mom, Dad, Baby, they were three advanced people with three advanced degrees in psychology—they thought more before nine A.M. than most people thought all month.

Because I feel sorry for you. - Why? - Because every morning you have to wake up and be you.

6-0-0. It felt different. I rarely woke at such a rounded time. I was a man of jagged risings: 8:43, 11:51, 9:26. My life was alarmless.

showtime! 6-0-0 the clock said—in my face, first thing

This is the unforgiving light of morning,' I whispered back. 'Time to drop the illusion.

Early birds. Let 'em eat worms.

CoÅ› jesteÅ›my radoÅ›ni od rana, nie? - Jak pieprzona jutrzenka. Nie przestawaÅ' utyskiwa?, podczas gdy ja doprowadzaÅ'em siÄ™ do stanu przypominajÄ…cego porzÄ…dek. Obóz budziÅ' siÄ™ do ?ycia. Ludzie jedli Å›niadanie i zmywali ze swych ciaÅ' Å›lady pustyni. Przeklinali, narzekali i pyskowali. Niektórzy nawet rozmawiali ze sobÄ…. ZaczÄ™li wraca? do wojny.

I greeted the morning the only way that makes sense. I groaned. I groaned some more as I pried me off the sheet. Several thousand maniacs were raising hell out in the street. I muttered dreadful threats, dropped my feet into the abyss beside my bed. My threats didn't scare up any peace. Pain blazed from my right temple to my left, ricocheted, clattered around inside my skull. I must have had a great time. I told me, "You got to quit drinking that cheap beer.

And Ciel lay down and cried. But Mattie knew the tears would end. And she would sleep. And morning would come.

They accepted the pleasures of morning, the bright sun, the whelming sea and sweet air, as a time when play was good and life so full that hope was not necessary and therefore forgotten.

Talleyrand was notorious for taking bribes. But then he was endlessly practical. He liked to lecture the young foreign office clerks on the necessity of masturbating before coming to work, thus ensuring unclouded minds at least throughout the morning.

No matter how big or soft or warm your bed is, you still have to get out of it.

For a moment I had felt elation as on the instant of waking before one remembers.

In Gower Street they were sweeping up glass, and a building smoked into the new day like a candle which some late reveler had forgotten to snuff.

I won't go to Mrs Henne-Falcon's party. I swear on the Bible I won't. Now surely all would be well, he thought. God would not allow him to break so solemn an oath. He would show him a way. There was all the morning before him and all the afternoon until four o'clock. No need to worry when the grass was still crisp with the early frost. Anything might happen. He might cut himself or break his leg or really catch a bad cold. God would manage somehow.

Neither of us mentioned him when we woke on the morning after his death...One is not jealous of the dead, and it seemed easy to me that morning to take up our old life together.