Michael Cunningham Quotes about Morning

I remember one morning getting up at dawn, there was such a sense of possibility. You know, that feeling? And I remember thinking to myself: So, this is the beginning of happiness. This is where it starts. And of course

I remember one morning getting up at dawn, there was such a sense of possibility. You know, that feeling? And I remember thinking to myself: So, this is the beginning of happiness. This is where it starts. And of course there will always be more. It never occurred to me it wasn't the beginning. It was happiness. It was the moment. Right then.

Michael Cunningham

Morning, Thinking, Feelings

"The Hours". www.imdb.com. 2002.

There is just this for consolation: an hour here or there, when our lives seem, against all odds and expectations, to burst open and give us everything we've ever imagined , though everyone but children (and perhaps even they) knows these hours will inevitably be followed by others, far darker and more difficult. Still, we cherish the city, the morning, we hope, more than anything, for more. Heaven only knows why we love it so.

Michael Cunningham

Morning, Children, Odds

Michael Cunningham (1998). “The Hours: A Novel”, p.225, Farrar, Straus, and Giroux

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.

Michael Cunningham

Morning, Simple, Trying

Michael Cunningham (1998). “The Hours: A Novel”, p.199, Farrar, Straus, and Giroux

The vestibule door opens onto a June morning so fine and scrubbed Classira pauses at the threshold as she would at the edge of a pool, watching the turquoise water lapping at the tiles, the liquid nets of sun wavering in the blue depths. As if standing at the edge of a pool she delays for a moment the plunge, the quick membrane of chill, the plain shock of immersion.

Michael Cunningham

Morning, June, Blue

Michael Cunningham (1998). “The Hours: A Novel”, p.9, Farrar, Straus, and Giroux

Like the morning you walked out of that old house, when you were eighteen and I was, well, I had just turned nineteen, hadn't I? I was a nineteen-year-old and I was in love with Louis and I was in love with you, and I thought I had never seen anything so beautiful as the sight of you walking out a glass door in the early morning, still sleepy, in your underwear. Isn't it strange?

Michael Cunningham

Beautiful, Morning, Love You

Michael Cunningham (1998). “The Hours: A Novel”, p.199, Farrar, Straus and Giroux