Morning Quotes
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Mornings at Blackwater"For years, every morning, I drankfrom Blackwater Pond. It was flavored with oak leaves and also, no doubt, the feet of ducks. And always it assuaged mefrom the dry bowl of the very far past. What I want to say isthat the past is the past, and the present is what your life is, and you are capableof choosing what that will be, darling citizen. So come to the pond, or the river of your imagination, or the harbor of your longing, and put your lips to the world. And liveyour...
Mary Oliver
Morning drew on apace. The air became more sharp and piercing, as its first dull hue: the death of night, rather than the birth of day: glimmered faintly in the sky. The objects which had looked dim and terrible in the darkness, grew more and more defined, and gradually resolved into their familiar shapes. The rain came down, thick and fast; and pattered, noisily, among the leafless bushes.
Charles Dickens
Morning, Peter,” she calls
from the back, in her exaggerated German accent. Mawning, Pedder.
She’s been in the States more than fifteen years now, but her
accent has gotten heavier. Uta is a member of what seems to be a
growing body of defiantly unassimilated expatriates. She on one
hand disdains her country of origin (Darling, the word “lugubrious”
comes to mind) but on the other seems to grow more German (more
not-American) with every passing year.
...
Because Uta is German, utterly German,...
Michael Cunningham
morning night and noonthe traffic moves throughand the murder and treacheryof friends and loversand all the peoplemove through you. pain is the joy of knowingthe unkindest truththat arrives without warning. life is being alonedeath is being alone. even the fools weepmorning night and noon.
Charles Bukowski
Morning or night, Friday or Sunday, made no difference, everything was the same: the gnawing, excruciating, incessant pain; that awareness of life irrevocably passing but not yet gone; that dreadful, loathsome death, the only reality, relentlessly closing in on him; and that same endless lie. What did days, weeks, or hours matter?
Leo Tolstoy
Why I Wake Early
Hello, sun in my face.
Hello, you who made the morning
and spread it over the fields
and into the faces of the tulips
and the nodding morning glories,
and into the windows of, even, the
miserable and the crotchety –
best preacher that ever was,
dear star, that just happens
to be where you are in the universe
to keep us from ever-darkness,
to ease us with warm touching,
to hold us in the great hands of light –
good morning, good morning, good...
Mary Oliver