Quotes About Morning

Carpe coffeum

But with the morning almost gone, with seven bodachs in the recreation room, with living boneyards stalking the storm, with Death opening the door to a luge chute and inviting me to go for a bobsled ride, I didn't have time to put on a victim suit and tell the woeful tale of my sorrowful childhood. Neither time nor the inclination

Beyond the slumpstone wall lay a backyard, a swimming pool. Dappled with morning light and tree shadows, the water glimmered in shades of blue from sapphire to turquoise, as might a trove of jewels left by long-dead pirates who had sailed a sea since vanished.

she drove slowly into town as the gold and rose fingers of the dawn reached toward fading stars that eluded them.

Dawn breaks / And blossoms open / Gates of paradise.

morning that Lupo and Hamal pull back the curtain to reveal to Katie that California can be Hell on Earth.

THE EARLY SKY WAS CLEAR AND DEEP. THE snow-mantled meadow lay as bright and clean as the morning after death, when time will have defeated time and all will have been redeemed.

beyond every darkness, dawn approached

On mornings when I hope you forget my name, I walk through the high wet weeds that don't have names either. I do not remember the word dew. I do not remember what I told you with your ear in my teeth.

I've heard there are two kinds of people in the world. Those who wake up and say 'Good Morning, God' and those who say 'Good God, Morning.

I continued with my morning runs, avoiding the house on Bethel Street for the first few days. Another encounter with Nick Schwartz wasn't something I welcomed. Seeing how adamant he was, I had no wish to trespass on his land. I'll admit, though, I missed seeing Elvis.

That is the bane of speakeasy life. You ring up your friend the next morning to find out whether he is still alive.

Anna, I hope I didn't wake

What was the freedom to which the adult human being rose in the morning, if each act was held back or inspired by the overpowering ghost of a little child?

Its perorations verge upon the ceaseless orations of the ocean: For reality's glow and glory, without poetry, Fade, like the red operas of sunset, The blue rivers and windows of morning.

In the morning, when it was raining In the morning, when it was raining, Then the birds were hectic and loudy; Through all the reign is fall's entertaining; Their singing was erratic and full of disorder: They did not remember the summer blue Or the orange of June. They did not think at all Of the great red and bursting ball Of the kingly sun's terror and tempest, blazing, Once the slanting rain threw over all The colorless curtains of the ceaseless spontaneous fall.

Beyond my window, a thick layer of snow covered the ledge. I became aware of a hush of anticipation, a tremendous surrounding absence. I got out of bed, dressed in my clothes, and went out to look at the city.

Upon Waking at the far edge of earth, night is going away. another poem begins. slumped over the typewriter i must get this exactly, i want to make it clear this morning that your face, as it opens from its shadow, is more perfect than yesterday; and that the light, as it hesitates over the approach of your smile, has given this aching bed more than warmth, more than poems; someway a generous rose, or a very delicate arrangement of sounds, has come to peace in this new room.

I loved getting up before everyone else, when the house was still and I could read or listen to a podcast alone in a frozen world. I knew where everyone was. I knew they were safe. I could relax.

When they'd first come out in the morning, a single flounder lay flapping and puffing in the breezeway, one sad, swollen eye looking back toward the sea.

Evening precedes morning for the simple and even obvious reason that darkness preceded light. Prior to the universe, all was dark. Light needed to be created, not darkness.

They sleep late and make a breakfast from the fruit trees and garden in the building's courtyard: sweet oranges, tangerines, tomatoes, grapefruit, avocado. They sit on a fold-out aluminum love seat on his balcony with plates and knives and a bowl of salt. A trail of juice runs along her fingers and Han kisses her palms.

Han breaks a tangerine into sections and feeds them to her one by one. Then he cuts a lemon in half, sprinkles a spoonful of sugar over the cut top, and bites into it. Sirine looks around at the wandering palms and the dusty street. Just that morning the radio weatherman had said it would be an Indian summer scorcher. She slices open an avocado and sprinkles it with coarse salt before handing it to Han.

I may be out of bed, but I'm in no way equipped to conduct hypothetical conversations before I've had a cup of tea.