A Quote by Eric Yuan
I tell myself, every morning when I wake up, two things. Don't let the world down. Don't let our users down.
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Generally, when I wake up in the morning I set out a series of problems for myself and I write them down, and when I'm sleeping, my mind solves the problems. When I wake up in the morning, I have more clarity on the issue.
It was stupid behaviour. And you take a look at the explosion, and it knocks you down and you wake up every morning and you're scared and you're depressed and sad, and you kind of got to let that knock you down and knock you down.
It's very important to write things down instantly, or you can lose the way you were thinking out a line. I have a rule that if I wake up at 3 in the morning and think of something, I write it down. I can't wait until morning - it'll be gone.
There are those who wake up each morning to conquer the day, and then there are those of us who wake up only because we have to. We live in the shadow of every neighborhood. We own little corner stores, live in run-down apartments that get too little light, and walk the same streets day after day. We spend our afternoons gazing lazily out of windows. Somnambulists, all of us. Someone else said it better: we wake to sleep and sleep to wake.
Politics is challenging for everyone's integrity... I have to wake up with myself every morning, and I have to be OK with the person I wake up with. If I string together too many days of waking up with a person I'm not happy to be, I have a lot bigger things at stake in my life than an election or a job.
You know, every morning that I wake up...I realize that being World Champion is a gift. And let me be the one to tell you I'm loving every minute of it!
If you ask me what I worry about every morning when I wake up, it's that I don't understand future mainstream Internet users' habits.
I learned to love myself, because I sleep with myself every night and I wake up with myself every morning, and if I don't like myself, there's no reason to even live the life.
I'm a morning "spinner." That's usually when my brain is thinking too much and I don't necessarily see things positively. So I sit myself down and remember that I'm making it up. I believe we are creating in every moment - making up our reality, so to speak - so when anything gets chaotic or I feel spun out, I remind myself that everything is an interpretation. I can look at it differently and make it work for me in a more positive light.
If you're going to be a writer you should sit down and write in the morning, and keep it up all day, every day. Charles Bukowski, no matter how drunk he got the night before or no matter how hungover he was, the next morning he was at his typewriter. Every morning. Holidays, too. He'd have a bottle of whiskey with him to wake up with, and that's what he believed. That's the way you became a writer: by writing. When you weren't writing, you weren't a writer.
It's a hard game, boxing. You're up every morning running every day, you train in the afternoon, you're dieting, you're up and down in weight and it can wear you down.
I wake up every morning and I surprise myself. I wake up to a new me.
It's easy to love the snow because at the end of every snowstorm it's as if the world has started over. There is no dirt, no footprints, just a layer of seamless, indiscriminate nature connecting everything to everything else. Isn't that the amazing thing about the natural world? You can tear it down, you can drill holes in it, you can ignore its power with all your might, but one morning you wake up and it has selflessly given despite all of our abuse. I think I'll make a snowman.
sometimes i'd wake up at two or three in the morning and not be able to fall asleep again. i'd get out of bed, go to the kitchen, and pour myself a whiskey. glass in hand, i'd look down at the darkened cemetary across teh way and the headlights of the cars on the road. the moments of time linking night and dawn were long and dark. if i could cry, it might make things easier. but what would i cry over? i was too self centered to cry for other people, too old to cry for myself.
whhheeeEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE! The scream of jet engines rises to a crescendo on the runways of the world. Every second, somewhere or other, a plane touches down, with a puff of smoke from scorched tyre rubber, or rises in the air, leaving a smear of black fumes dissolving in its wake. From space, the earth might look to a fanciful eye like a huge carousel, with planes instead of horses spinning round its circumference, up and down, up and down. Whhheeeeeeeeeee!
My dreams are the usual incoherent nonsense. Like most writers, at some point in my career I thought, well, I have these great dreams but I always forget them in the morning so I’ll leave a pad on my bedside table so I can write it down, and then you have some incredible dream and you write it down and the next morning you wake up and you’ve written ‘purple socks’.
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