Quotes About Morning

She loved you in the morning because the day was new.

Early in the morning, late in the century, Cricklewood Broadway.

It's hard to keep apocalypse consistently in mind, especially if you want to get out of bed in the morning.

Early in the morning, late in the century, Cricklewood Broadway. At 0627 hours on January 1, 1975, Alfred Archibald Jones was dressed in corduroy and sat in a fume-filled Cavalier Musketeer Estate facedown on the steering wheel, hoping judgement would not be too heavy upon him.

Despite the Hoover tube that lay on the passenger seat pumping from the exhaust pipe into his lungs, luck was with him that morning.

Morning dawned bright and sparkling after the rain. The air was keen and crisp. The cedars glistened as if decked with diamonds. Pan felt the sweet scent of the damp dust, and it gave him a thrill and a longing for the saddle and the open country.

So is blurred so is blurred in me what white-haired gentleman separated once and for all and said this is the subject this is the object we fall asleep with one hand under our head and with the other in a mound of planets our feet abandon us and taste the earth with their tiny roots which next morning we tear out painfully

The morning air was like a new dress. That made her feel the apron tied around her waist. She untied it and flung it on a low bush beside the road and walked on, picking flowers and making a bouquet… From now on until death she was going to have flower dust and springtime sprinkled over everything.

The sun had become a light yellow yolk and was walking with red legs across the sky.

Every morning the world flung itself over and exposed the town to the sun.

Her resolutions against Jim Meserve were just like the lightning-bugs holding a convention. They met at night and made scorning speeches against the sun and swore to do away with it and light up the world themselves. But the sun came up next morning and they all went under the leaves and owned up that the sun was boss-man in the world.

The sun, the hero of every day, the impersonal old man that beams as brightly on death as on birth, came up every morning and raced across the blue dome and dipped into the sea of fire every evening.

Some of dese mornin's and it won't be long, you gointuh wake up callin' me and Ah'll be gone.

The morning road air was like a new dress. That made her feel the apron tied around her waist. She untied it and flung it on a low bush beside the road and walked on

One mornin' soon, now, de angel wid de sword is gointuh stop by here.

It seems to me that organized creeds are collections of words around a wish. I feel no need for such. However, I would not, by word or deed, attempt to deprive another of the consolation it affords. It is simply not for me. Somebody else may have my rapturous glance at the archangels. The springing of the yellow line of morning out of the misty deep of dawn is glory enough for me.

I'm obviously fighting for my community simply because I'm trans, and I have to do that, and I do it because that's my existence. I wake up in the morning, and that is my activism.

You have to have a spirit of courage and adventure, or else you're going to find it tough to get up in the morning sometimes.

It's always morning for me until 4 in the afternoon.

I wake up sometimes and roll over and sleep until 4 o'clock in the afternoon.

I don't set the alarm to get up. I get up when I feel like it.

I don't use an alarm. I wake up naturally at 7 A.M.

I'm up around 11am to my alarm. Without it I'd sleep into the afternoon.

Acting is about animality. It's great to be allowed to be animal. But I feel more alive as a director. Every morning, I have to write.