Morning Scene Quotes

One morning, one of us ran out of the black, it was the birth of Impressionism.

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

This morning's scene is good and fine, Long rain has not harmed the land.

Here hyacinths of heavenly blue, shook their rich tresses to the morn.

One Sunday morning the warm sun came up and - pop! - out of the egg came a tiny and very hungry caterpillar.

How glorious a greeting the sun gives the mountains!

On motionless wing they emerge from the lifting mists, sweep a final arc of sky, and settle in clangorous descending spirals to their feeding grounds. A new day has begun on the crane marsh.

I've always wanted to be able to paint the dawn.

When I wrote the song, I had the sea near Bombay in mind. We stayed at a hotel by the sea, and the fishermen come up at five in the morning and they were all chanting. And we went on the beach and we got chased by a mad dog - big as a donkey.

To look upon that landscape in the early morning, with the sun at your back, is to lose the sense of proportion.

The morning pouring everywhere, its golden glory on the air.

And also the idea of not making it apparent that it's different from the rest of the film, even though there are visual differences, the audience is supposed to think that they are with him when he wakes up in the morning.

There is a beautiful spirit breathing now Its mellowed richness on the clustered trees, And, from a beaker full of richest dyes, Pouring new glory on the autumn woods, And dipping in warm light the pillared clouds. Morn on the mountain, like a summer bird, Lifts up her purple wing, and in the vales The gentle wind, a sweet and passionate wooer, Kisses the blushing leaf, and stirs up life Within the solemn woods of ash deep-crimsoned, And silver beech, and maple yellow-leaved, Where Autumn, like a faint old man, sits down By the wayside a-weary.

The day broke grey and dull. The clouds hung heavily, and there was a rawness in the air that suggested snow. A woman servant came into a room in which a child was sleeping and drew the curtains. She glanced mechanically at the house opposite, a stucco house with a portico, and went to the child's bed.

This is the day of wonders. The land is covered with trees like a head with hair and behind the ship the sun rises tipping the top trees with light. The sky is clear and shining as a china plate and the water playfully ruffled with wind. Every wisp of fog is gone and the air is full of the resinous smell of the trees. Seabirds are flashing above the sails golden like creatures from Heaven, but the sailors raise a few shots to keep them from the rigging.

Here was this man Tom Guthrie in Holt standing at the back window in the kitchen of his house smoking cigarettes and looking out over the back lot where the sun was just coming up.

The faintness of the stars, the freshness of the morning, the dewdrop on the flower, speaks to me.

Ere the blabbing eastern scout, The nice morn, on th' Indian steep From her cabin'd loop-hole peep.

The early mist had vanished and the fields lay like a silver shield under the sun. It was one of the days when the glitter of winter shines through a pale haze of spring.

Dawn rose from the desert and turned the river to wine.

When I reached C Company lines, which were at the top of the hill, I paused and looked back at the camp, just coming into full view below me through the grey mist of early morning.

The morning had dawned clear and cold, with a crispness that hinted at the end of summer.

Aurora now, fair daughter of the dawn, Sprinkled with rosy light the dewy lawn.