Good Morning Beautiful Search Quotes

Good morning, beautiful, call when you're awake. xx Adam. ~ Leigh Fallon

Morning comes whether you set the alarm or not. ~ Ursula K. Le Guin

Good morning is such a beautiful song; it begins the magic of a wonderful day. ~ Debasish Mridha

Because there is nothing, nothing on Urras that we Anarresti need! We left with empty hands, a hundred and seventy years ago, and we were right. We took nothing. Because there is nothing here but States and their weapons, the rich and their lies, and the poor and their misery. There is no way to act rightly, with a clear heart, on Urras. There is nothing you can do that profit does not enter into, and fear of loss, and the wish for power. You cannot say good morning without knowing which of you is 'superior' to the other, or trying to prove it. You cannot act like a brother to other people, you must manipulate them, or command them, or obey them, or trick them. You cannot touch another person, yet they will not leave you alone. There is no freedom. It is a box - Urras is a box, a package, with all the beautiful wrapping of blue sky and meadows and forests and great cities. And you open the box, and what is inside it? A black cellar full of dust, and a dead man. A man whose hand was shot off because he held it out to others. ~ Ursula K. Le Guin

I was staring at her and not wanting to blink. I was doing my best to ignore the voice of reason in the back of my mind.
Hunter, turn your ass around.
I took one step further into the motel's lobby.
Do not speak. Leave.
"Hi." I crossed the remaining distance to the counter.
"Um, hi," she squeaked, then cleared her throat. "Hello. Hi. Uh, good morning." The flush of her cheeks was so fucking beautiful, my heart pumped double time.
Whatever you do, shit-for-brains, do not ask for a room. You have a plan, remember?
"I was wondering if you have a vacancy?"
Fuckwad ~ Devney Perry

Why, there's the air, the sky, the morning, the evening, moonlight, my friends, women, the beautiful architecture of Paris to study, three big books to write and all sorts of other things. Anaxagoras used to say that he was in the world in order to admire the sun. And then I have the good fortune to be able to spend my days from morning to night in the company of a man of genius - myself - and it's very pleasant. ~ Victor Hugo

Rose barely poured herself a cup of hot, mouth-watering chocolate, when she saw Grey and Archer walking across the lawn. Archer was impeccable as always, but Grey was a mess. His clothes were the same he'd worn the night before, and obviously slept in. His shirt, open at the throat, revealed a glimpse of tanned flesh that made her heart twitch and her gingers itch to touch him. His hair was mussed, and stubble covered his cheeks and jaw, except where prohibited by his scar.
In short, he looked absolutely beautiful-a fallen angel. The only thing that made him remotely human was that scar, and she could easily tell herself he got that from battling the archangel Gabriel before being thrown out of heaven.
She squinted as she realize Grey held something against his chest-something that moved. Was that a puppy?
She jumped to her feet, and skipped down the few steps that took her down to the lawn. Lifting the skirts of her yellow morning gown, she hurried to meet them. "Good morning!" she cried. "What have you there?"
Archer smiled in greeting, but Rose barely noticed. Her gaze was riveted on the man looking at her with an expression so hopeful it neigh on broke her heart.
"I brought you something," he said, his voice low and strangely rough. "A gift." And then he held out his arms and offered her the sweetest face she'd ever seen.
"Oh!" What an idiot she must seem, her eyes welling with tears over a dog, but she didn't care. She let the tears come and ~ Kathryn Smith

Text from Aiden to Keatyn:
Hottie God: Good morning, beautiful. I miss sleeping with you. Hottie God: And waking up with you. Hottie God: I just miss you. ~ Jillian Dodd

Key Rabbit, allow me to bore you with a comparison of your wife and a beautiful woman," I said. "In the morning a beauty must lie in bed for three or four hours gathering strength for another mighty battle with Nature. Then, after being bathed and toweled by her maids, she loosens her hair in the Cascade of Teasing Willows Style, paints her eyebrows in the Distant Mountain Range Style, anoints herself with the Nine Bends of the River Diving-water Perfume, applies rouge, mascara, and eye shadow, and covers the whole works with a good two inches of the Powder of the Nonchalant Approach. Then she dresses in a plum-blossom patterned tunic with matching skirt and stockings, adds four or five pounds of jewelry, looks in the mirror for any visible sign of humanity and is relieved to find none, checks her makeup to be sure that it has hardened into an immovable mask, sprinkles herself with the Hundred Ingredients Perfume of the Heavenly Spirits who Descended in the Rain Shower, and minces with tiny steps toward the new day. Which, like any other day, will consist of gossip and giggles. ~ Barry Hughart

Beautiful day out there," I said, perching on the stool and crossing my legs. "It's autumn, Sunday, great weather, and crowded everywhere you go. Relaxing indoors like this is the best thing you can do on such a nice day. It's exhausting to get into those crowds. And the air is bad. I mostly do laundry on Sundays - wash the stuff in the morning, hang it out on the roof of my dorm, take it in before the sun goes down, do a good job of ironing it. I don't mind ironing at all. There's a special satisfaction in making wrinkled things smooth. And I'm pretty good at it, too. Of course, I was lousy at it at first. I put creases in everything. After a month of practice, though, I knew what I was doing. So Sunday is my day for laundry and ironing. I couldn't do it today, of course. Too bad: wasted a perfect laundry day. ~ Haruki Murakami

New York
November 10, 1958

Dear Thom:

We had your letter this morning. I will answer it from my point of view and of course Elaine will from hers.

First - if you are in love - that's a good thing - that's about the best thing that can happen to anyone. Don't let anyone make it small or light to you.

Second - There are several kinds of love. One is a selfish, mean, grasping, egotistical thing which uses love for self-importance. This is the ugly and crippling kind. The other is an outpouring of everything good in you - of kindness and consideration and respect - not only the social respect of manners but the greater respect which is recognition of another person as unique and valuable. The first kind can make you sick and small and weak but the second can release in you strength, and courage and goodness and even wisdom you didn't know you had.

You say this is not puppy love. If you feel so deeply - of course it isn't puppy love.

But I don't think you were asking me what you feel. You know better than anyone. What you wanted me to help you with is what to do about it - and that I can tell you.

Glory in it for one thing and be very glad and grateful for it.

The object of love is the best and most beautiful. Try to live up to it.

If you love someone - there is no possible harm in saying so - only you must remember that some people are very shy and sometimes the saying must tak ~ John Steinbeck

Just what do you think you're doing, Arin?"
He looked up at Sarsine, blearily rubbing his eyes. He had fallen asleep in a chair. It was full morning. "I couldn't sleep in my old rooms. At least here, in Etta's suite--"
"I'm not talking about your choice of bedchamber, though I can't help but notice how conveniently close it is to the east wing."
Arin winced. There was usually only one reason why a man kept a conquered woman prisoner after a battle. "This isn't what it seems."
"Oh, no? Too many people heard you call her a spoil of war."
"It's not true."
Sarsine threw her hands up in the air. "Then why did you say it?"
"Because I couldn't think of any other way to save her!"
Sarsine stood still. Then she leaned over him and shook his shoulder as if waking him from a nightmare. "You? Save a Valorian?"
Arin captured her hand. "Please listen to me."
"I will when you say something I can understand."
"I did your lessons for you, when we were children."
"So?"
"I told Anireh to shut up when she made fun of your nose. Do you remember? She pushed me down."
"Your sister was too beautiful for her own good. But all this was long ago. What's your point?"
Arin held both her hands now. "We share something, and probably not for very long. The Valorians will come. There will be a siege." He groped for what to say. "By the gods, just listen."
"Oh, Arin. Haven't you learned? The gods won't hear you." She sighed. "But ~ Marie Rutkoski

The morning came, pale and clammy. Frodo woke up first, and found that a tree-root had made a hole in his back, and that his neck was stiff. "Walking for pleasure! Why didn't I drive?" he thought, as he usually did at the beginning of an expedition. "And all my beautiful feather beds are sold to the Sackville-Bagginses! These tree-roots would do them good." He stretched. "Wake up, hobbits!" he cried. "It's a beautiful morning."
"What's beautiful about it?" said Pippin, peering over the edge of his blanket with one eye. "Sam! Get breakfast ready for half-past nine! Have you got the bath-water hot?"
Sam jumped up, looking rather bleary. "No, sir, I haven't, sir!" he said.
Frodo stripped the blankets from Pippin and rolled him over, and then walked off to the edge of the wood. ~ J.R.R. Tolkien

Saying good night to the mountains, the sun throws his most beautiful rays to them, that they may not forget him till the morning. ~ Johanna Spyri

That same day we drove to Seville to celebrate. I asked someone for the name of the smartest hotel in Seville. Alfonso XIII, came the reply. It is where the King of Spain always stays.
We found the hotel and wandered in. It was amazing. Shara was a little embarrassed as I was dressed in shorts and an old holey jersey, but I sought out a friendly-looking receptionist and told her our story.
"Could you help us out? I have hardly any money."
She looked us up and down, paused--then smiled.
"Just don't tell my manager," she whispered.
So we stayed in a $1,000-a-night room for $100 and celebrated--like the King of Spain.
The next morning we went on a hunt for a ring.
I asked the concierge in my best university Spanish where I would find a good (aka well-priced) jeweler.
He looked a little surprised.
I tried speaking slower. Eventually I realized that I had actually been asking him where I might find a good mustache shop.
I apologized that my Spanish was a little rusty. Shara rolled her eyes again, smiling.
When we eventually found a small local jeweler, I had to do some nifty subcounter mathematics, swiftly converting Spanish pesetas into British pounds, to work out whether or not I could afford each ring Shara tried on.
We eventually settled on one that was simple, beautiful--and affordable. Just.
Love doesn't require expensive jewelry. And Shara has always been able to make the simple look exquisite.
Luckily. ~ Bear Grylls

Start each day out the holy way..with Christ Chex, it's a miracle in a bowl. Just open the box and you hear AHHHHH ... and then a lil' angel flies out and says 'good morning, life is beautiful!'. ~ Dane Cook

Every sunrise gives you a new beginning and a new ending. Let this morning be a new beginning to a better relationship and a new ending to the bad memories. Its an opportunity to enjoy life, breathe freely, think and love. Be grateful for this beautiful day. ~ Norton Juster

ALICE HAD BEEN UP ALONE for a couple of hours. In that early morning solitude, she drank green tea, read a little, and practiced yoga outside on the lawn. Posed in downward dog, she filled her lungs with the delicious morning ocean air and luxuriated in the strange, almost painful pleasure of the stretch in her hamstrings and glutes. Out of the corner of her eye, she observed her left triceps engaged in holding her body in this position. Solid, sculpted, beautiful. Her whole body looked strong and beautiful. She was in the best physical shape of her life. Good food plus daily exercise equaled the strength in her flexed triceps muscles, the flexibility in her hips, her strong calves, and easy breathing during a four-mile run. ~ Lisa Genova

She felt the electric tickle of Finn behind her. He must have come from the hallway. She turned.
Standing on the first step, she was almost eye level with him. He'd carried the irresistible smell of the morning in with him, caught in his hair and clothes.
"Good morning, beautiful," he said. Teagan leaned closer.
"What are you doing?" Aiden asked.
Sniffing Finn. How weird would that sound? She changed the sniff into a kiss on the cheek, but Finn turned just before her lips met his face. She felt a shock as their lips touched, the wild inside her exploding like fireworks, rocketing through her to Finn. He swayed, and she managed to get her arms around him before his knees gave way.
"Wa," he gasped. "Could you steer me toward the couch, girl?"
"Oh, my god," Abby said from behind her. "The couch? Are you going to let them do that in your living room, Mr. Wylltson?"
"Do what?" Finn flushed red. "Oh. I just meant . . . I need to sit down. The girl's that good a kisser."
Thomas and Mr. Wylltson were staring. Aiden's mouth was hanging open.
"What are you doing, Tea?" Abby asked. "You totally lunged at him."
"I did not lunge." I was just sniffing him. That would sound worse than lunging. "I just . . . caught him."
"Then why don't you let him go?"
Because he wasn't steady on his feet yet. Finn's electronics had gone haywire.
"Well played." Thomas winked at Finn and grinned at Teagan. "And well caught."
Finn groped f ~ Kersten Hamilton

Good morning to you beautiful souls! In spite of Monday's reign, today will be a great day filled with blessings & good reports. Stay focused, stay positive & grind hard. LK ~ LaNina King

Still lying on the ground, half tingly, half stunned, I held my left hand in front of my face and lightly spread my fingers, examining what Marlboro Man had given me that morning. I couldn't have chosen a more beautiful ring, or a ring that was a more fitting symbol of my relationship with Marlboro Man. It was unadorned, uncontrived, consisting only of a delicate gold band and a lovely diamond that stood up high--almost proudly--on its supportive prongs. It was a ring chosen by a man who, from day one, had always let me know exactly how he felt. The ring was a perfect extension of that: strong, straightforward, solid, direct. I liked seeing it on my finger. I felt good knowing it was there.
My stomach, though, was in knots. I was engaged. Engaged. I was ill-prepared for how weird it felt. Why hadn't I ever heard of this strange sensation before? Why hadn't anyone told me? I felt simultaneously grown up, excited, shocked, scared, matronly, weird, and happy--a strange combination for a weekday morning. I was engaged--holy moly. My other hand picked up the receiver of the phone, and without thinking, I dialed my little sister.
"Hi," I said when Betsy picked up the phone. It hadn't been ten minutes since we'd hung up from our last conversation.
"Hey," she replied.
"Uh, I just wanted to tell you"--my heart began to race--"that I'm, like…engaged."
What seemed like hours of silence passed.
"Bullcrap," Betsy finally exclaimed. Then she repeated: "Bullcra ~ Ree Drummond

Every time I see the sunshine in the bright blue sky, I cannot help but think how blessed I really am to see another day. There are so many who may have not woken up to see it but I have been blessed. ~ Donna Karan

The coming together of a man and woman was a holy thing, after all. God had chosen this way of replenishing the earth. God did everything so elegantly, with such an exquisite attention to detail. She knew this from studying the flowers in the garden and watching the morning sky, all mauve and pink and orange. So beautiful. But God had looked at all this, His ideas, His wonderful sense of color and design put into action, and had said merely that it was good. Not great. Not fantastic. Just good. But when He had looked at man and woman together, He had said it was "very good". ~ Naomi Ragen

You wanna know if I'm religious? I sure haven't made a dent in the pew, but boy do I thank God. For ever morning I get to wake up and my coffee's hot and your mom's right there next to me at the breakfast table. I thank God I get to work this ranch for a living instead of having to put on a necktie and commute to some office. I get to smell sage and pinon instead of traffic exhaust. Somebody or something made a beautiful place in this ugly world, and saw fit to put me right in the middle of it. Now, whether there's some old fella with a beard floating on a cloud up there or just some...cosmic energy or whatnot, I got no idea. But whatever God is, wherever He lives, I thank Him because, I tell you what, I can look back on every minute of it, good and bad, and I can tell you that I've had one hell of a life. Pardon my French" -Walter ~ Meagan Brothers

When I first open my eyes upon the morning meadows and look out upon the beautiful world, I thank God I am alive. ~ Ralph Waldo Emerson

How happy I am that my heart can feel the simple, harmless bliss of the person who brings to his table a cabbage he has grown himself, not just the cabbage alone but all the good days, the beautiful morning he planted it, the lovely evenings he watered it, and as he had his joy in its advancing growth, he enjoys it all again in the one moment. ~ Johann Wolfgang Von Goethe

I fall asleep feeling beautiful. Then, in the morning, before I leave the house, I say five things I love about myself, like 'You have really pretty eyes.' That way I can go out into the world with that little bit of extra confidence. It's a feel-good protein shake in my back pocket in case someone messes with me that day. ~ Jennifer Love Hewitt

Split in two," he sang, "Loved by one, and then another. Pulled in a direction and then the other. If I could breathe you in, all of you, every day of my life, it wouldn't be enough. My heart was captive long ago - then you stole it away, you helped me grow. Now I'm staring at my crossroads with a choice to make, wondering how in the world I even thought there was one way to take."

His hands flew over the piano, muscles tightened in his forearms as he leaned forward and continued singing.

"My biggest fear, is not the ending of this life, but going through it without you by my side." He repeated the chorus and closed his eyes, humming the haunting melody in such a way that I felt hypnotized.

"Letting her go will be the hardest thing I've ever had to do - but I'm doing it so I can say goodbye to her - and good morning to you. Tell me it's not too late to ask for a second." He smirked but continued singing. "Third, fourth, tenth date." His hands slowed. "Loving you will always be easy because when I look into your eyes I know you see the real me, so be my love, be my rain, be my clouds, be my pain."

"My biggest fear, is not the ending of this life, but going through it without you by my side." He stopped playing.

The room fell silent. ~ Rachel Van Dyken

Once a renowned skirt-chaser, now an exceptionally devoted husband, St. Vincent knew as much about these matters as any man alive. When Cam had asked glumly if a decrease in physical urges was something that naturally occurred as a man approached his thirties, St. Vincent had choked on his drink.
"Good God, no," the viscount had said, coughing slightly as a swallow of brandy seared his throat. They had been in the manager's office of the club, going over account books in the early hours of the morning.
St. Vincent was a handsome man with wheat-colored hair and pale blue eyes. Some claimed he had the most perfect form and features of any man alive. The looks of a saint, the soul of a scoundrel. "If I may ask, what kind of women have you been taking to bed?"
"What do you mean, what kind?" Cam had asked warily.
"Beautiful or plain?"
"Beautiful, I suppose."
"Well, there's your problem," St. Vincent said in a matter-of-fact tone. "Plain women are far more enjoyable. There's no better aphrodisiac than gratitude."
"Yet you married a beautiful woman."
A slow smile had curved St. Vincent's lips. "Wives are a different case altogether. They require a great deal of effort, but the rewards are substantial. I highly recommend wives. Especially one's own."
Cam had stared at his employer with annoyance, reflecting that serious conversation with St. Vincent was often hampered by the viscount's fondness for turning it into an exercise of w ~ Lisa Kleypas

At length, one lovely morning, when the green corn lay soaking in the yellow sunlight, and the sky rose above the earth deep and pure and tender like the thought of God about it, Alec became suddenly aware that life was good, and the world beautiful . . . One of God's lyric prophets, the larks, was within earshot, pouring down a vocal summer of jubilant melody. The lark thought nobody was listening but his wife; but God heard in heaven, and the young prodigal heard on the earth. ~ George MacDonald

I sought a soul that might resemble mine, and I could not find it. I scanned all the crannies of the earth: my perseverance was useless. Yet I could not remain alone. There had to be someone who would approve of my character; there had to be someone with the same ideas as myself. It was morning. The sun in all his magnificence rose on the horizon, and behold, there also appeared before my eyes a young man whose presence made flowers grow as he passed. He approached me and held out his hand: "I have come to you, you who seek me. Let us give thanks for this happy day." But I replied: "Go! I did not summon you. I do not need your friendship… ." It was evening. Night was beginning to spread the blackness of her veil over nature. A beautiful woman whom I could scarcely discern also exerted her bewitching sway upon me and looked at me with compassion. She did not, however, dare speak to me. I said: "Come closer that I may discern your features clearly, for at this distance the starlight is not strong enough to illumine them." Then, with modest demeanour, eyes lowered, she crossed the greensward and reached my side. I said as soon as I saw her: "I perceive that goodness and justice have dwelt in your heart: we could not live together. Now you are admiring my good looks which have bowled over more than one woman. But sooner or later you would regret having consecrated your love to me, for you do not know my soul. Not that I shall be unfaithful to you: she who devotes herself to me wi ~ Comte De Lautreamont

The summer of 1999, we went on holiday to Spain to visit my cousin Penny, who runs a horse farm in Andalucia. It is a beautiful, wild part of the country.
Shara would ride out early each day in the hilly pine forests and along the miles of huge, deserted Atlantic beaches. I was told I was too tall for the small Andalucian ponies.
But I didn't want to be deterred.
Instead I ran alongside Shara and tried to keep up with the horse. (Good training, that one.)
Eventually, on the Monday morning we were to leave, I took her down to the beach and persuaded her to come skinny-dipping with me. She agreed. (With some more eye-rolling.)
As we started to get out after swimming for some time, I pulled her toward me, held her in my arms, and prepared to ask for her hand in marriage.
I took a deep breath, steadied myself, and as I was about to open my mouth, a huge Atlantic roller pounded in, picked us both up, and rolled us like rag dolls along the beach.
Laughing, I went for take two. She still had no idea what was coming.
Finally, I got the words out. She didn't believe me.
She made me kneel on the sand (naked) and ask her again.
She laughed--then burst into tears and said yes.
(Ironically, on our return, Brian, Shara's father, also burst into tears when I asked him for his blessing. For that one, though, I was dressed in a jacket, tie, and…board shorts.)
I was unsure whether his were tears of joy or despair.
What really ma ~ Bear Grylls

When he opened his eyes again, all words escaped him. He had seen her just a second ago and yet his eyes were unprepared for the beauty they saw. Her face was perfect.
Her cheeks were still flushed from the excitement. It was the same face he could not wait to see every morning; the same cheeks he had kissed every day for the past four weeks. "You're not good for me," he whispered. ~ Jacqueline Francis - The Journal

Well. I guess it's… it's the moment, you know, when you wake up first in the morning. You open your eyes and your thoughts are muddled. You're still partly asleep and you're warm and don't want to move, but you know you have to get up anyway. So you stretch and it feels good, but your arm hits something next to you and you look over and… there he is. Still asleep. And it's the first clear thought you have, and you think, Hello. Hello there. Hi. I'm so glad you're here. I'm so glad you're next to me. And then for some reason, he must feel you watching him, because he wakes up too, you know? And he's blinking and looks all soft and beautiful and then he sees you and he smiles. Like all it takes for him to be the happiest he's ever been is to see you there. Next to him. That's… that's what's so great about it. That's what it feels like ~ T.J. Klune

A good way to fall in love
is to turn off the headlights
and drive very fast down dark roads.

Another way to fall in love
is to say they are only mints
and swallow them with a strong drink.

Then it is autumn in the body.
Your hands are cold.
Then it is winter and we are still at war.

The gold-haired girl is singing into your ear
about how we live in a beautiful country.
Snow sifts from the clouds

into your drink. It doesn't matter about the war.
A good way to fall in love
is to close up the garage and turn the engine on,

then down you'll fall through lovely mists
as a body might fall early one morning
from a high window into love. Love,

the broken glass. Love, the scissors
and the water basin. A good way to fall
is with a rope to catch you.

A good way is with something to drink
to help you march forward.
The gold-haired girl says, Don't worry

about the armies, says, We live in a time
full of love. You're thinking about this too much.
Slow down. Nothing bad will happen. ~ Kevin Prufer

For most of my life, I would have automatically said that I would opt for conscientious objector status, and in general, I still would. But the spirit of the question is would I ever, and there are instances where I might. If immediate intervention would have circumvented the genocide in Rwanda or stopped the Janjaweed in Darfur, would I choose pacifism? Of course not. Scott Simon, the reporter for National Public Radio and a committed lifelong Quaker, has written that it took looking into mass graves in former Yugoslavia to convince him that force is sometimes the only option to deter our species' murderous impulses.

While we're on the subject of the horrors of war, and humanity's most poisonous and least charitable attributes, let me not forget to mention Barbara Bush (that would be former First Lady and presidential mother as opposed to W's liquor-swilling, Girl Gone Wild, human ashtray of a daughter. I'm sorry, that's not fair. I've no idea if she smokes.) When the administration censored images of the flag-draped coffins of the young men and women being killed in Iraq - purportedly to respect "the privacy of the families" and not to minimize and cover up the true nature and consequences of the war - the family matriarch expressed her support for what was ultimately her son's decision by saying on Good Morning America on March 18, 2003, "Why should we hear about body bags and deaths? I mean it's not relevant. So why should I waste my beautiful mind on something ~ David Rakoff

Lauren's eyes widened.An entire page had been devoted to the Children's Hospital Benefit Ball.In the center was a color picture of her-with Nick. They were dancing, and he was grinning down at her. Lauren's face was in profile, tilted up to his. The caption read, "Detroit industrialist J. Nicholas Sinclair and companion."
"It does look like me, doesn't it?" she hedged, glancing at the excited, avidly curious faces surrounding her desk. "Isn't that an amazing coincidence?" She didn't want her relationship with Nick to be public knowledge until the time was right, and she certainly didn't want her co-workers to treat her any differently.
"You mean it isn't you?" one of the women said disappointedly. None of them noticed the sudden lull, the silence sweeping over the office as people stopped talking and typewriters went perfectly still...
"Good morning, ladies," Nick's deep voice said behind Lauren. Six stunned women snapped to attention, staring in fascinated awe as Nick leaned over Lauren from behind and braced his hands on her desk. "Hi," he said, his lips so near her ear that Lauren was afraid to turn her head for fear he would kiss her in front of everyone. He glanced at the newspaper spread out on her desk. "You look beautiful, but who's that ugly guy you're dancing with?" Without waiting for an answer, he straightened, affectionately rumpled the hair on the top of her head and strolled into Jim's office, closing the door behind him.
Lauren felt like si ~ Judith McNaught

The sun is new each day. ~ Heraclitus

Well, I guess that answers my question." The deep velvet voice startles me.
I jump, grab my pillow like I'm going to use it as a weapon.
Will stands in the doorway, sipping from a metallic travel mug. His gray T-shirt stretches across his shoulders and chest in a way that makes my throat close up.
"What question?" I ask, breathless.
"Whether you're as beautiful in the morning as you are during the rest of the day."
"Oh," I say dumbly, pushing the tangle of hair back off my shoulders, certain I don't look good right now, just rolling out of bed. Not that I take pains with my appearance on the average day, but still...who looks their best fresh out of bed? "You're here again," I murmur.
"Apparently."
"Can't stay away?"
"Apparently not."
I'm okay with that. Great, in fact.
"I made you breakfast," he adds.
"You can cook?" I'm impressed.
He grins. "I live in a bachelor household, remember? My mom died when I was a kid. I hardly remember her. I kind of had to learn to cook."
"Oh," I murmur, then sit up straighter. "Wait a minute. How'd you get in here?"
"Opened the front door." He takes another sip from his mug and looks at me like I'm in trouble. "Your mom really should lock the door when she leaves."
I arch a brow. "Would that have kept you out?"
He smiles a little. "You know me well. ~ Sophie Jordan

Every day is the start of something beautiful. ~ Matt Nathanson

So, um, where's your broomstick?" he countered, his face turning pink from his effort at not laughing.

"Broomsticks are *sooo* 1695," I replied, rolling my eye. "Modern witches use vibrators and drop acid just like everyone else."

"What?" He frowned, looking confused.

"Yeah, *flying on broomsticks* equals a big-ass euphemism for pagan women getting their freak on with broom handles greased up with morning glory butter," I said. "Sometimes strychnine. Not a good idea, but hey, back in the day they used to think a wolf's testicle wrapped in a greasy rag was a good barrier contraceptive. So, yeah, no broomsticks for me. But thanks *ever* so much for asking about my sex life when we've only just met. ~ Lucy A. Snyder

Winter was come indeed bringing with it those pleasures of which the summer dreamer knows nothing - the delight when the fine and glittering day shows in the window, though one knows how cold it is outside; the delight of getting as close as possible to the blazing range which in the shadowy kitchen throws reflections very different from the pale gleams of sunlight in the yard, the range we cannot take with us on our walk, busy with its own activity, growling and grumbling as it sets to work, for in three hours time luncheon must be ready; the delight of filling one's bowl with steaming café-au-lait - for it is only eight o'clock - and swallowing it in boiling gulps while servants at their tasks come in and out with a, 'Good morning: up early, aren't you?' and a kindly, 'It's snug enough in here, but cold outside,' accompanying the words with that smile which is to be seen only on the faces of those who for the moment are thinking of others and not of themselves, whose expressions, entirely freed from egotism, take on a quality of vacillating goodness, a smile which completes that earlier smile of the bright golden sky touching the window-panes, and crowns our every pleasure as we stand there with the lovely heat of the range at our backs, the hot and limpid flavour of the café-au-lait in our mouths; the delight of night-time when, having had to get up to go shiveringly to the icy lavatory in the tower, into which the air creeps through the ill-fitting window, we later return ~ Marcel Proust

(It's a weird thing, depression. Even now, writing this with a good distance of fourteen years from my lowest point, I haven't fully escaped. You get over it, but at the same time you never get over it. It comes back in flashes, when you are tired or anxious or have been eating the wrong stuff, and catches you off guard. I woke up with it a few days ago, in fact. I felt its dark wisps around my head, that ominous life-is-fear feeling. But then, after a morning with the best five- and six-year-olds in the world, it subsided. it is now an aside. Something to put brackets around. Life lesson: the way out is never through yourself.) ~ Matt Haig

Everyone has highs and lows that they have to learn from, but every morning I start off with a good head on my shoulders, saying to myself, 'It's going to be a good day!'. ~ Lindsay Lohan