Quotes About Morning

Shepherdess, O Eiffel Tower, your flock of bridges is bleating this morning.

Bergère ô tour Eiffel le troupeau des ponts bêle ce matin - Zone -

Er hat mich meinem Schicksal überlassen, eines schönen Morgens, als er ging. (Edith Piaf)

Sometimes I miss out the morning's painting session and instead study my Japanese books in the open.

That man has missed something who has never left a brothel at sunrise feeling like throwing himself into the river out of pure disgust.

EVENTUALLY, MORNING CAME. Morning always comes. There are always losses in the night, a price paid for light.

Darkness gives way to morning's sunrise, Winter ends, there are flowers, birds fly. Honour the goddess, remember the gods. We are children of earth and sky.

Ammar's eyes opened without warning, vivid and blue, the same color as her own. He looked at her. She watched him settle into an awareness of the day, what morning it was.

Another breeze, entering the room. Dawn wind. He would be going home soon. He would sit with her, and look out upon the sea. Morning was coming, the god's return. Almost time to rise and go to prayer. The bed was very soft. Almost time, but the darkness had not quite lifted, light still to come, he could linger a little with memory. It was necessary, it was allowed. End it with the ending of a night.

Surely--But I am very off from that. From surely. From indeed. From the decent arrow that was my clean naivete and my faith. This morning, men deliver wounds and death. They will deliver death and wounds tomorrow. And I doubt all. You. Or a violet.

I love being. There's so much wisdom in it. You wake up in the morning and you think, Hey, isn't it great just being?

La suerte se regala todos los días a las cinco de la mañana en el trabajo".

On Monday mornings I am dedicated to the proposition that all men are created jerks.

His name is Tristan, by the way. Tristan? Yes. Oh, I should have told you. You must have wondered about my own name. It was my father. Great Wagnerian. It nearly ruled his life. It was music all the time -- mainly Wagner. I'm a bit partial myself. Ah well, yes, but you didn't get it morning, noon and night like we did. And then to be stuck with a name like Siegfried. Anyway, it could have been worse-- Wotan, for instance.

It was still quite early in the morning and perhaps I wasn't feeling quite strong enough to have the evidence of my failure thrust before my eyes.

The end of every day is the most important time of the day because, I pray that I might see the morning light and live another day.

And if he had judged her harshly? If her life were a simple rosary of hours, her life simple and strange as a bird's life, gay in the morning, restless all day, tired at sundown? Her heart simple and willful as a bird's heart?

Woodshadows floated silently by through the morning peace from the stairhead seaward where he gazed. Inshore and farther out the mirror of water whitened, spurned by lightshod hurrying feet. White breast of the dim sea. The twining stresses, two by two. A hand plucking the harpstrings, merging their twining chords. Wavewhite wedded words shimmering on the dim tide.

her who whose beauty is not like earthly beauty, dangerous to look upon, but like the morning star which is its emblem, bright and musical.

A duodene of bird notes chirruped bright treble answer under sensitive hand. Brightly the keys, all twinkling, linked, all harpsichording, called to a voice to sing the strain of dewy morn, of youth, of love's leave-taking, life's, love's morn.

Every morning, therefore, uncle Charles repaired to his outhouse but not before he had greased and brushed scrupulously his back hair and brushed and put on his tall hat.

His prayer, addressed neither to God nor saint, began with a shiver, as the chilly morning breeze crept through the chink of the carriage door to his feet, and ended in a trail of foolish words which he made to fit the insistent rhythm of the train; and silently, at intervals of four seconds, the telegraph-poles held the galloping notes of the music between punctual bars.

Woodshadows floated silently by through the morning peace from the stairhead seaward where he gazed. Inshore and farther out the mirror of water whitened, spurned by lightshod hurrying feet. White breast of the dim sea. The twining stresses, two by two. A hand plucking the harpstrings, merging their twining chords.

Solemnly he came forward and mounted the round gunrest. He faced about and blessed gravely thrice the tower, the surrounding land and the awaking mountains.