Quotes About Morning

as I unwrapped my daily meal of two hard-boiled eggs

Ladies didn't wake up on the floor, covered in cat.

But Virginia, bacon is breafast. And nothing sets my nostrils twitching like bacon in the morning. Little pigs parading up and down with their curly cork screw tails... Bacon sizzling away on a iron frying pan. Baste it, roast it, toast it, nibble it, chew it, bite right through it, wobble it, gobble it, wrap it round a couple of chickens and am I ravenous!

It is a challenge, with the global fame, to try to act like I put my pants on one leg at a time, when in fact I have Pippa Middleton help me put my pants on every morning. She's my lady-in-waiting as well.

Contacting a government office on a weekend is like phoning the Pope on Easter morning.

But of course when people watch morning television, Terry, it's a very different animal. You know, they're running around, they're getting their kids ready for school, they're probably doing eight million things, they're brushing their teeth.

All three networks have always had a morning show but now cable of course is taking some of that audience away and a variety of other things, probably the Internet as well.

But, you know, they don't enjoy the dinner hour together. It's just not as much of a ritual at night and it's interesting. I think the ritual is taking place perhaps more in the morning.

I love the smell of estrogen in the morning

Someone must have been in a rush to leave this morning," I told the door, trying to tamp down the major case of the willies the silent street was giving me. "Someone was just late for work, and they didn't quite close the door. That's all. There's nothing foreboding in a door that hasn't been shut all the way. There's nothing eerie in that at all. There's nothing creepy about the street...Oh, crap. Hello?

Angela had been the first of us. She'd been found on a park bench by some dawn jogger or dog walker, her throat slit, her sandals lined up next to her bare feet. And did you ever notice how these are the people who are always discovering the bodies, these people whose lives are so orderly that they can rise early enough to find a whole other human being dumped on the ground?

These people whose lives are so orderly that they can rise early enough to find a whole other human body just dumped on the ground...

Good morning, my dears! (heart) And welcome back!

Granola Cereal 39 General Mills Cheerios Toasted Whole Grain Oat Cereal 37 Kashi Heart to Heart Warm Cinnamon Oat Cereal 36 Kellogg's Frosted Original Mini-Wheats Bite Size Cereal 33 General Mills Total Crunchy Whole Grain Wheat Flakes 31 Kashi GoLean Crisp! Multigrain Cluster Cereal

Overbearing parents was one thing; waking up to a drunk uncle mistaking you for the toilet was another.

When his writing is going well, Gordon Strangle Mars likes to wake up at 6 a.m. and go out driving. He works out new plot lines about giant spiders and keeps an eye out for abandoned couches, which he wrestles into the back of his pickup truck. Then he writes for the rest of the day.

If all you had was academic ability, you wouldn't have been able to get out of bed this morning. In fact, there wouldn't have been a bad to get out of. No one could have made one. You could have written about possibility of one, but not have constructed it.

The awfulness of Monday morning is the world's great common denominator.

All this he saw, for one moment breathless and intense, vivid on the morning sky; and still, as he looked, he lived; and still, as he lived, he wondered.

Here was this man Tom Guthrie in Holt standing at the back window in the kitchen of his house smoking cigarettes and looking out over the back lot where the sun was just coming up.

Let's go to Brunch. What a great idea! Why would you want to sleep in on a Sunday when you can go pay $18 for eggs?

I mean when you come into the set at 7:30 in the morning and you come out of make-up and the first thing you know, the ladies start coming into our dressing rooms at 7:45.

On we climb, keeping time To hidden goat-bells' nibbling chime, Feet in the dew of ferns we climb, Souls in a sort of winding rhyme, Up the path that turns and turns Toward the top where morning burns.

Los madrugadores afantasmaban, todo en silencio, como si el lenguaje no se hubiera inventado todavía, ateridos, mojados.