A Quote by Charles Bukowski

In the morning it was morning and I was still alive. — © Charles Bukowski
In the morning it was morning and I was still alive.
So happy just to be alive, Underneath the sky of blue, On this new morning, new morning, On this new morning with you.
Life is beautiful, what do you think? In the morning I say, 'Ah, I am alive still!' All my friends die already. I am alive. It is fantastic.
What I wanted to do seemed simple. I wanted something alive and shocking enough that it could be a morning in somebody's life. The most ordinary morning. Imagine, trying to do that.
I prefer to work in the morning. I get up now at five in the morning. In the morning is when I feel freshest.
Good Morning!” said Bilbo, and he meant it. The sun was shining, and the grass was very green. But Gandalf looked at him from under long bushy eyebrows that stuck out further than the brim of his shady hat. “What do you mean?” he said. “Do you wish me a good morning, or mean that it is a good morning whether I want it or not; or that you feel good this morning; or that it is a morning to be good on?
I still get up every morning at 4 A.M. I write seven days a week, including Christmas. And I still face a blank page every morning, and my characters don't really care how many books I've sold.
The worst part about pregnancy would definitely have to be my nausea. I don't know why it's just called morning sickness because morning sickness never just happened in the morning for me and it's not happening just in the morning for my sister.
Let me tell you, it is still morning in America. It just happens to be kind of a head pounding, hung over for four hours in America - and it's shaping up to be a nasty day, but its still morning in America.
Did you hear?" he asked. "They found another body around nine this morning. It's the Ripper, definitely." "Good morning," I replied. "Morning. Listen to this. The second victim.
Why I wake up in the morning is that I'm still alive, and I want to figure out whatever I can before it's over.
Every morning I wake up with the news of bloodshed. I feel my body, desperate to know whether I'm still alive.
Do you wish me a good morning, or mean that it is a good morning whether I want it or not; or that you feel good this morning; or that it is a morning to be good on?
I'm still getting my exercise at five o'clock in the morning, that's good. So far I've managed to hold on to a bike ride on Saturday or Sunday morning, probably at least two weekends out of three.
You can be in Tokyo or Alberta at four in the morning in your hotel and you can still practice if you feel like it. A trombone cannot do that at four in the morning.
I work every morning, all morning, sometimes in the afternoons. Then sometimes I hunt in the afternoons - quail, doves, grouse up north - but just to stay alive, because writers die from their lifestyle but also from their lack of movement.
I've done the best I can with the morning show. I made it a morning show. We have the coffee cup, you have the morning papers, you know, it's got that feel to it, that's what I wanted.
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