I drink cup of sunlight every morning to brighten myself.

Every morning, look in the mirror. You are beautiful and wonderful.

New morning, new moment of miracles.

In the morning, lift my hands towards the heavens. And surrender my heart in prayer to the Most High God.

There are times when breakfast seems the one thing worth getting up for ...

That old saw about the early bird just proves that the worm should have stayed in bed.

I'd like mornings better if they started later.

For what human ill does not dawn seem to be an alleviation?

Only that day dawns to which we are awake. There is more day to dawn. The sun is but a morning star.

It is true, I never assisted the sun materially in his rising, but doubt not, it was of the last importance only to be present at it.

The long morning shadows lay as still and dark as lakes and patterned the rough ground with straight margins.

Oft when the white, still dawn Lifted the skies and pushed the hills apart, I have felt it like a glory in my heart.

So far as I know, anything worth hearing is not usually uttered at seven o'clock in the morning; and if it is, it will generally be repeated at a more reasonable hour for a larger and more wakeful audience.

It was a splendid summer morning and it seemed as if nothing could go wrong.

It is only your habitual late riser who takes in the full flavor of Nature at those rare intervals when he gets up to go afishing. He brings virginal emotions and unsatiated eyes to the sparkling freshness of earth and stream and sky.

How I have loved this house in the morning before we are all awake and tangled together like badly cast fishing lines.

Only dull people are brilliant at breakfast.

The early bird gets the early worm.

For the mind disturbed, the still beauty of dawn is nature's finest balm.

But it's morning. Within my hands is another day. Another day to listen and love and walk and glory. I am here for another day.