A Quote by Jennifer Aniston

I call it the 'doll house,' ... It's absolutely gorgeous, especially at this time of year. It's a crisp sky and, you know, if we wake up on a clear morning, and then I take little Norm out for a walk, have a little coffee on the deck.
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.
The best thing that you can do to deal with these high speed times is to slow down, inwardly, to take a little more time for meditation, a little more time to enjoy your morning cup of coffee or tea, and to look around at the people in your life with a little more love.
little sun little moon little dog and a little to eat and a little to love and a little to live for in a little room filled with little mice who gnaw and dance and run while I sleep waiting for a little death in the middle of a little morning in a little city in a little state my little mother dead my little father dead in a little cemetery somewhere. I have only a little time to tell you this: watch out for little death when he comes running but like all the billions of little deaths it will finally mean nothing and everything: all your little tears burning like the dove, wasted.
My dream is to have a house on the beach, even just a little shack somewhere so I can wake up, have coffee, look at dolphins, be quiet and breathe the air.
How can we hope, after all, to see a tree or rock or clear north sky if we do not adopt a little of their mode of life, a little of their time? if the time it takes to cross space is a way by which we define it, then to arrive at a view of space “in no time” is to have denied its reality
Are you the person who just wakes up, puts your T-shirt on and runs out of the house? Or do you wake up an hour early - get your mental notes together, fix you a little coffee... prepare yourself for the day and try to do something really great? It begins with you.
I'm a morning bird. I love getting up before it's light out if it's possible. I wake up, I have a black coffee. I'm an 86-year-old man. I try to work out first thing to get it over with. When I do it, I feel good because I have the endorphins all day.
My eighth-grade year, I was home-schooled. I'd basically wake up, go to the gym in the morning, do a little bit of school, go to practice, do a little more school, then go back to practice. My mom had a crockpot and a mini traveling oven, so we'd be cooking and eating dinners at the gym.
"Jogging Gorgeous Summer" song was inspired by a general feeling of sunshine, feeling good, sitting in the backseat of a car and hearing a song for the first time on the radio and feeling warm. I went back to the house I grew up in, and the people let me in to walk around. I went into my sister's old bedroom, and on the window ledge there was this little handwriting from my sister, and it said, "Jogging Gorgeous Summer." I thought that was a really pretty phrase.
As the days go on toward July, the earth becomes dry and all the flowers begin to thirst for moisture. Then from the hillside, some warm, still evening, the sweet rain-song of the robin echoes clear, and next day we wake up to a dim morning; soft flecks of cloud bar the sun's way, fleecy vapors steal across the sky, the southwest wind blows lightly, rippling the water into little waves that murmur melodiously as they kiss the shore.
I pride myself on how little space I take up. I am going to shrink and shrink until I am a dry fall leaf, complete with a translucent spine and brittle veins, blowing away in a stiff wind, up, up, up into a crisp blue sky.
Rituals are important. I get up. I take the dogs on a walk around to the front and then I pick up the papers. Then I walk around to the front door, then me and the two dogs come in the house and I give them treats. I make coffee. It's the regularity of these kinds of rituals that I find deeply satisfying.
I wake up in the morning and I lie in bed, and it's the time I call "the theater of morning." All these thoughts run around in my head, between my ears when I'm waking up. It's not a dream state, but it's not completely awake either. So all these metaphors run around and then I pick one and I get out of bed and I do it. I'm very lucky.
One thing I do is (and I realize this might sound nuts), every month or so, I try to take like an Etch-a-sketch [so to speak], and I clear my faith. I go to zero, clear the deck. And I start adding things back to my faith, one at a time. What would be the first thing I'd add back? Jesus. It sounds a little bit like a Sunday school answer, but that's what I do. Then what's the next thing? And I'd say, well, loving people. And then the next.
Women get a little more excited about New Year's Eve than men do. It's like an excuse: you drink too much, you make a lot of promises you're not going to keep; the next morning as soon as you wake up you start breaking them. For men, we just call that a date.
The rule is you have to dance a little bit in the morning before you leave the house because it changes the way you walk out in the world.
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