Early Riser Quotes

Progress isn't made by early risers. It's made by lazy men trying to find easier ways to do something.

Give a man a reputation as an early riser and he can sleep 'til noon.

Looks like Kelsey wins the award for early riser. And doesn’t she look purtier than a pat of butter meltin’ all over a stack of griddle cakes?

I henceforth tread the world, chaste, temperate, an early riser, a steady grower.

It’s been said that the most successful people are often early risers. So that’s why I started getting up in the afternoon, which is well before any “successful” person even thinks of going to bed.

Stay close, do what I say and make as many mistakes as you want – just never the same one twice.

It's 5:22pm you're in the grocery checkout line. Your three-year-old is writhing on the floor, screaming, because you have refused to buy her a Teletubby pinwheel. Your six-year-old is whining, repeatedly, in a voice that could saw through cement, "But mommy, puleeze, puleeze" because you have not bought him the latest "Lunchables," which features, as the four food groups, Cheetos, a Snickers, Cheez Whiz, and Twizzlers. Your teenager, who has not spoken a single word in the past foor days, except, "You've ruined my life," followed by "Everyone else has one," is out in the car, sulking, with the new rap-metal band Piss on the Parentals blasting through the headphones of a Discman. To distract yourself, and to avoid the glares of other shoppers who have already deemed you the worst mother in America, you leaf through People magazine. Inside, Uma thurman gushes "Motherhood is Sexy." Moving on to Good Housekeeping, Vanna White says of her child, "When I hear his cry at six-thirty in the morning, I have a smile on my face, and I'm not an early riser." Another unexpected source of earth-mother wisdom, the newly maternal Pamela Lee, also confides to People, "I just love getting up with him in the middle of the night to feed him or soothe him." Brought back to reality by stereophonic whining, you indeed feel as sexy as Rush Limbaugh in a thong.

I can hardly contain my indifference.

She used to only play "Help Yourself," but now she only plays "Delilah." Is that normal? "It's not unusual.

I know you’re still awake.” “Good for you. Shut up and go to sleep.” Another snicker. “What you have to ask yourself,” he continued, “is whether I’m the type who would stay awake long enough to kill you after you fall asleep, or if I’m an early riser who would kill you before you wake up.” “If you want your head to stay on your neck, you’d better be neither,” I growled, though his words sent a cold spear of dread through my stomach. My hands tightened on my sword hilt, and Jackal laughed somewhere in the darkness, unseen. “I’m just kidding, sis,” he said. “Or am I? Something to think about, before you fall asleep. Nighty-night, then. Sleep tight.

Don't underestimate mediocrity... Lasting happiness, I've found, only really favors the unadventurous.

One was our own Mother Fallopia, tall, elegant, austere, and with a habit so black she looked like a nun-shaped hole in the air.

Being on time is a filthy habit practised only by roosters and retirees.

You a brave person?' 'I don't know.' 'You'll find out soon enough.

Can I ask why?" "Why what?" "Why you're something you're not?" "We're all something we're not," he said. "Every one of us is stuck between the person we want to be and the person we can be and there doesn't have to be a why. All things have to do is feel right.

And he gave me a smile that looked as though it had come from a hastily-read handbook on cultivating personal charm.

Don’t you feel you get value for your day if you’ve actually watched the sun rise?

long gaps between sequels to books.

Progress isn’t made by early risers. It’s made by lazy men trying to find easier ways to do something.”  Robert A. Heinlein

Mr. Salton had all his life been an early riser, and necessarily an early waker.

Full of meal plans today. Lunch?” “Sorry? Oh, yes. Apparently Magdelana remembered I’m an early riser.” He slipped the date book he had on his desk into his pocket as he got to his feet. “We’ll have lunch.” “So I heard. You’re going to want to be careful there, pal.” “Of what?” “It wouldn’t be the first old friend you’ve had come around hoping you’d dip back into the game for old times’ sake. You might want to remind her you’re sleeping with a cop these days.

The sky is the color of gray flannel, the darkness broken only by the dormer window of another early riser. The woman who lives in that attic painted her walls yellow, and the reflected light bounces out like a spring crocus. If light were sound, her window would be playing a concerto.

In a village of La Mancha, the name of which I have no desire to call to mind, there lived not long since one of those gentlemen that keep a lance in the lance-rack, an old buckler, a lean hack, and a greyhound for coursing. An olla of rather more beef than mutton, a salad on most nights, scraps on Saturdays, lentils on Fridays, and a pigeon or so extra on Sundays, made away with three-quarters of his income. The rest of it went in a doublet of fine cloth and velvet breeches and shoes to match for holidays, while on week-days he made a brave figure in his best homespun. He had in his house a housekeeper past forty, a niece under twenty, and a lad for the field and market-place, who used to saddle the hack as well as handle the bill-hook. The age of this gentleman of ours was bordering on fifty; he was of a hardy habit, spare, gaunt-featured, a very early riser and a great sportsman. They will have it his surname was Quixada or Quesada (for here there is some difference of opinion among the authors who write on the subject), although from reasonable conjectures it seems plain that he was called Quexana. This, however, is of but little importance to our tale; it will be enough not to stray a hair's breadth from the truth in the telling of it.

So when did you first consider a Winter career?’ asked Williams, who seemed chatty. ‘Oh, eight seconds ago,’ I replied.

Everyone needs dreams,’ she said simply. ‘If you don’t have them, they can’t come true.

If you look into someone else’s dreams, all you ever find are nightmares.

Staying awake in the winter requires considerable pantry, a lot of luck, warm clothes, and several dozen good books.

Feedback loops, echo chambers, circular reinforcement. All could play a part in escalating the utterly imaginary to the level of reality, sometimes with fatal consequences.

... plans are all well and good in the Summer, but in the Winter it's wise to simply have an objective.' 'I thought we were meant to make a plan and stick to it?' 'Events move fast,' he said, 'and you need on-the-hoof flexibility to ensure the plan doesn't get in the way of the goal.' It actually seemed like quite good advice.

Sometimes she though being with her mother was like crossing a desert: long, hard stretches of burning sand that exhausted you, but every once in a while, you happened on a little oasis of kindness.

Becoming an Early Riser Phase 1: Be home by 10 p.m. every night. Phase 2: Have all devices (TV, phone, etc.) turned off by 10 p.m. every night. Phase 3: Be in bed by 10 p.m. every night (reading a book, talking with your partner). Phase 4: Lights off by 10 p.m. every night. Phase 5: Wake up at 6 a.m. every day.

Can I have a pig, too, Pop?’ asked Avery. ‘No, I only distribute pigs to early risers,’ said Mr Arable. ‘Fern was up at daylight, trying to rid the world of injustice. As a result, she now has a pig. A small one, to be sure, but nevertheless a pig. It just shows what can happen if a person gets out of bed promptly.

You’re a liability and a wild card and trouble seems to follow you like a homesick spaniel.

You’ll also be pleased to know that no resident has been eaten in their sleep here for almost thirty-seven years.

Does Gary have to come too?" "You know as well as I do that Gary doesn't like to be alone after dark," Duncan said. "He says the toilet whispers.

for it is not the sober man who is exposed either to plots or contempt, but the drunkard; not the early riser, but the sluggard.

It’s important to collect evidence,’ she said, ‘even if disproved. That’s how science works. Being proved wrong and then advancing. If I’m proved wrong a lot, I must be making headway, right?

We're all something we're not,' he said. 'Every one of us is stuck between the person we want to be and the person we can be. And there doesn't have to be a why. All things have to do is feel right.

Of all the Winter Service Industries, the Winter Consul was the most dangerous. Few who joined expected to last out the decade, yet recruitment was never much of a problem. You didn't find the job, they said, it found you. No-one ever who entered the Winter voluntarily wasn't trying to leave something behind.

She felt a sort of cellular-level sorrow and wondered if she loved more deeply than other people. Or was everyone else just more mature, more rational? More realistic? Maybe everyone else was right, and Jane was wrong.

You’re not any of those. But I can’t figure out if you’re a clever person pretending to be thick, a thick person pretending to be clever, or just a chancer stumbling through the Winter without any sort of plan or thought at all.

Find something new to live for,” said Peter softly. “I had to do that when I lost my family. Granted, they weren’t dead, but they were as good as dead for twelve years.” “What did you learn to live for?” “Sunrises. I never used to be an early riser, but the centaurs don’t believe in sleeping in. I found that there’s nothing quite like watching the sunlight come over the prairie and make it shine like gold.” Peter sighed and added, “Sometimes, it’s all about the little things.

This is the first birthday I've had without the person who's responsible for bringing me into the world all those decades ago. My mother... Because it was her desire to be the first to wish me a happy birthday, I always got a 5:30am phone call from her. I'm an early riser, but not that early. Yet even when my birthday fell on a Saturday, or Sunday, I loved getting that call. There are so many things you miss about a loving mother, especially on the first birthday you have without her.

From tender infancy Smith has been an early riser. He sleeps so little that Morpheus barely knows him by sight. When he dreams he only has time for a synopsis. He was the first man to discover that you can cut a sleeping pill in half and enjoy a nap.

Wintry morning, looking with dull eyes and sallow face upon the neighbourhood of Leicester Square, finds its inhabitants unwilling to get out of bed. Many of them are not early risers at the brightest of times, being birds of night who roost when the sun is high and are wide awake and keen for prey when the stars shine out. Behind dingy blind and curtain, in upper story and garret, skulking more or less under false names, false hair, false titles, false jewellery, and false histories, a colony of brigands lie in their first sleep. Gentlemen

There is a clear connection between intentionality and success, between early risers and high achievers, between waking up with a plan and changing the world. If you want to begin your journey to high achievement, waking up early should be the first task on your list tomorrow morning.

We drove a couple of miles to a pasture near his parents’ house and met up with the other early risers. I rode along with one of the older cowboys in the feed truck while the rest of the crew followed the herd on horseback, all the while enjoying the perfect view of Marlboro Man out the passenger-side window. I watched as he darted and weaved in the herd, shifting his body weight and posture to nonverbally communicate to his loyal horse, Blue, how far to move from the left or to the right. I breathed in slowly, feeling a sudden burst of inexplicable pride. There was something about watching my husband--the man I was crazy in love with--riding his horse across the tallgrass prairie. It was more than the physical appeal, more than the sexiness of his chaps-cloaked body in the saddle. It was seeing him do something he loved, something he was so good at doing. I took a hundred photos in my mind. I never wanted to forget it as long as I lived.

Oh, the joy of a shared life! The joy is not - as many people believe - building a future with someone, or opening your heart to another human being, or even the ability to gift each other money with limited tax consequences. The joy is in the dailiness. The joy is having someone who will stop you from hitting the snooze button on the alarm endlessly. The joy is in the smell of someone else's cooking. The joy is knowing that you can call someone and ask him to pick up a gallon of milk on his way over. The joy is having someone to watch "Kitchen Nightmares" with, because it is really no good when you watch it by yourself. The joy is hoping (however unrealistically) that someone else will unload the dishwasher. The joy is having someone listen to the weird cough your car has developed and reassure you that it doesn't sound expensive. The joy is saying how much you want a glass of wine and having someone tell you, "Go ahead, you deserve it!" (Although it's possible to achieve the last one with a pet and a little imagination.)

You’ll know the beginning easily enough; it’s when it all started going weird.

She and I had not exchanged an intelligent word since we first met five hours before, and the reason was readily explained: Mrs Tiffen was dead, and had been for several years.

Oh, hullo, Worthing,’ he said in a cheery manner. ‘How are things?’ ‘Outlook stormy with a chance of scattered death moving in randomly from all points of the compass.

You said back then that you were sorry you’d ever met him and that you’d never forgive him for introducing us.” “I know,” Aggie said. “But I thought he would always be there, waiting to be forgiven.

I am an early riser,' he says at last. 'So I watch Owen wake up every morning. And each morning reveals something new. The light catches his face in a particular way; he has a fresh thought; he shares a memory. Love is finding one person infinitely fascinating.' John seems lost in thought again - then comes to. 'And so... not an achievement, my dear.' He gives me a mild, kind smile. 'Rather, a privilege.

Good as new? Was Duncan crazy? Jimmy would never be new, never be the same. How could Duncan not realize that every time you fell in love and it didn’t work out, it scraped out a little piece of you, like scooping out a piece of cantaloupe with a melon baller, and there were only so many times that could happen before the scoop marks started to show? That in really no time at all, your heart could become a cold, pockmarked stone?

The worst part was that she’d given it to him. Yes, that was always the worst part. You gave it to him. You carved out a crucial little part of yourself, and you not only gave it to him, you begged him to take it. You pushed it on him, the way you might press food on a hungry traveler or money on a less fortunate relative. You were sure at that moment that you would always have an endless supply, or at least more than enough, because you were one of the lucky ones. So you gave it to him. You did

It was enough just to sit with him on the porch, looking at the dew sparkling on the grass and the sun shooting biblical-looking rays of light through the pine trees. She should sit out here more often early in the morning. She and Duncan could have coffee here, start their day with calm and beauty. But she knew it was one of those things—like Sunday afternoon drives and mother-daughter yoga class and vacuuming the refrigerator coils—that she would think about but never actually do again, and that made it all the sweeter.

There was a picture of Don Hector on the wall and next to the television was a phonograph with a large collection of cylinders. I looked through them. They were a mixture of old favourites – Dark Side of the Moon, Rumours, Ziggy Stardust – mixed with jazz and a little Puccini.

Coffee is for winners, go-getters, tea-ignorers, lunch-cancellers, early-risers, guilt-ridden strivers, money obsessives and status-driven spiritually empty lunatics. It is an enervating force. We should resist it and embrace tea, the ancient drink of poets, philosophers and meditators.

Early risers strolling along the Thames would see the toshers wading through the muck of low tide, dressed almost comically in flowing velveteen coats, their oversized pockets filled with stray bits of copper recovered from the water’s edge. The toshers walked with a lantern strapped to their chest to help them see in the predawn gloom, and carried an eight-foot-long pole that they used to test the ground in front of them, and to pull themselves out when they stumbled into a quagmire. The pole and the eerie glow of the lantern through the robes gave them the look of ragged wizards, scouring the foul river’s edge for magic coins.

Rory was a pale, thin boy with no-color hair and eyes as dark and troubled as shadows. He seemed to have a great difficulty finding the bathroom, even though Jane had kept him after school to practice the route. "See?" she'd said. "Just come out of the classroom and turn left and walk down this hall and turn right." "That's what I do," Rory said. "And sometimes the bathroom's there, and sometimes it's not." "It's always there," Jane said gently. Did he think it was the Brigadoon of bathrooms? "Maybe sometimes you take a wrong turn. Let's practice again." "That's okay," Rory assured her. "If it's there, I go. If it's not, I hold it.

I arrange to meet Kimmie and Wes before homeroom the following day. The cafeteria serves breakfast for early risers in the form of stale toast, oatmeal sludge, and watered-down orange juice. “This had better be worth it,” Wes says. “By my calculation, I’d say you’re denying us at least thirty minutes of sleep.” “Not to mention precious primping time.” Kimmie motions to her outfit: a black leather poodle skirt paired with a glittery pink T that reads DEMON IN TRAINING. “Like it? I also have a coordinating pitchfork, but in all this rush I forgot it at home.” “Along with your sense of style,” Wes jokes, resting his cheek against her shoulder.

All parents want to hear good things about their children, but sometimes you had to say bad things. If you said the bad things to subtly, the parents didn't believe you. If you said the bad things too baldly, the parents got upset. Actually, they often didn't believe you anyway and then they got upset, too. It was like having an intervention for an alcoholic every twenty minutes for an entire working day.

She should sit out here more often early in the morning. She and Duncan could have coffee here, start their day with calm and beauty. But she knew it was one of those things—like Sunday afternoon drives and mother-daughter yoga class and vacuuming the refrigerator coils—that she would think about but never actually do again, and that made it all the sweeter. — It was not for nothing that Jane taught second grade.

I used to know this guy who liked to point out the difference between the sympathy levels of the early birds and the night owls. The latter seem to be much more tactful with their early-riser friends, tucking them in and asking everyone to keep their voices down after 9 p.m.. The early birds didn’t seem to possess the same finesse of character. They loved nothing more than to drag a peacefully sleeping night owl out of bed before midday!

Stopping outside my brother’s bedroom door, I take a deep breath and try to prepare myself for whatever happens next. I knock on his door and hear an unhappy groan echo from inside the room. I grin despite the reason for my visit. Where I have always been an early riser, my brother will sleep the day away if he’s allowed. I knock again and call out, “Eir, can I come in? I need to talk to you.” I hear muffled sounds that indicate he most likely has his head buried under his pillow in an effort to block out my voice. I knock again anyway. “Eirnin — come on, it’s after ten. Time to start your day.” I hear something soft thump against the other side of the door and have to bite my lip to keep from laughing. I count to ten in my head and then shout, “I’m counting to five and then I’m coming in, Eir!” We call this fair warning in our house. “No counting!” I hear him bellow, no longer muffled. The mattress groans, I hear two large feet hit the floor and he says, “Why do you hate sleep and the people who enjoy it?

Stopping outside my brother’s bedroom door, I take a deep breath and try to prepare myself for whatever happens next. I knock on his door and hear an unhappy groan echo from inside the room. I grin despite the reason for my visit. Where I have always been an early riser, my brother will sleep the day away if he’s allowed. I knock again and call out, “Eir, can I come in? I need to talk to you.” I hear muffled sounds that indicate he most likely has his head buried under his pillow in an effort to block out my voice. I knock again anyway. “Eirnin — come on, it’s after ten. Time to start your day.” I hear something soft thump against the other side of the door and have to bite my lip to keep from laughing. I count to ten in my head and then shout, “I’m counting to five and then I’m coming in, Eir!” We call this fair warning in our house. “No counting!” I hear him bellow, no longer muffled. The mattress groans, I hear two large feet hit the floor and he says, “Why do you hate sleep and the people who enjoy it?

Aggie taught Jane to make Moroccan lamb meatballs and said bad things about people who used died ginger and that sangria was really a lower class sort of drink, and it was just like old times. Well, almost like old times, except that now Jane was the one that Aggie contacted, not Duncan. Jane was the one she texted when she had surplus tomatoes or homemade jam. Jane was the one Aggie asked for help when her washing machine went berserk and shimmied its way half out of her laundry room, although in that case all Jane did was dispatch Duncan. Jane was the one Aggie asked for advice on her bathroom tiles and then rejected the color Jane chose. "She does that", Duncan said. "She asks you your opinion when she already has her mind made up. Drives me crazy. Jane was the one Aggie called when Gary began having dizzy spells and blurred vision, and Aggie thought he might be having a stroke. Although it turned out that he was just wearing the wrong eyeglasses having accidentally picked up someone else's at the office.

Colette"s "My Mother's House" and "Sido" After seeing the movie "Colette" I felt so sad that it didn't even touch the living spirit of her that exists in her writing. 'What are you doing with that bucket, mother? Couldn't you wait until Josephine (the househelp) arrives?' "And out I hurried. But the fire was already blazing, fed with dry wood. The milk was boiling on the blue-tiled charcoal stove. Nearby, a bar of chocolate was melting in a little water for my breakfast, and, seated squarely in her cane armchair, my mother was grinding the fragrant coffee which she roasted herself. The morning hours were always kind to her. She wore their rosy colours in her cheeks. Flushed with a brief return to health, she would gaze at the rising sun, while the church bell rang for early Mass, and rejoice at having tasted, while we still slept, so many forbidden fruits. "The forbidden fruits were the over-heavy bucket drawn up from the well, the firewood split with a billhook on an oaken block, the spade, the mattock, and above all the double steps propped against the gable-windows of the attic, the flowery spikes of the too-tall lilacs, the dizzy cat that had to be rescued from the ridge of the roof. All the accomplices of her old existence as a plump and sturdy little woman, all the minor rustic divinities who once obeyed her and made her so proud of doing without servants, now assumed the appearance and position of adversaries. But they reckoned without that love of combat which my mother was to keep till the end of her life. At seventy-one dawn still found her undaunted, if not always undamaged. Burnt by fire, cut with the pruning knife, soaked by melting snow or spilt water, she had always managed to enjoy her best moments of independence before the earliest risers had opened their shutters. She was able to tell us of the cats' awakening, of what was going on in the nests, of news gleaned, together with the morning's milk and the warm loaf, from the milkmaid and the baker's girl, the record in fact of the birth of a new day.

Being an entrepreneur takes many hours of the day, and if your entrepreneur is a late riser or an early quitter, it will be difficult for the company to be successful

I wavered behind my terminal, bewildered, bracing myself on the desk at 2:00 a.m., splashing water on my face at 3:00 a.m., eating a chocolate bar and drinking a Red Bull at 4:00 a.m., popping into the back office to slap myself hard in the face at 5:00 a.m., greeting the early-riser guests and beginning to check out rooms at 6:00 a.m., my mouth tasting like the smell coming from the wilting and unchanged flower display at 6:05 a.m., counting the minutes at 6:06 a.m., feeling as if I’ve ruined my whole life at 6:21 a.m., dreaming about dreaming at 6:32 a.m., squinting with hatred at the sun sliding into the lobby at 6:43 a.m., thinking about absolutely nothing, my head sort of rolling around, eyes twitching and staring down the hallway at 6:51 a.m., at the end of which, next to the elevators, is the door that leads to the employee locker rooms, where my relief, hopefully, is on time and changing into uniform, then stumbling downstairs at 7:01

Early risers will early rise in their life

Drowning isn’t the only way water can kill you.

Gaps. I loathe gaps. Gaps in doors, gaps in windows, gaps in bathroom tiles, long gaps between sequels to books. But you know which gaps I hate the most?

Goodness me, no,’ he replied with perhaps not quite the tone of veracity in his voice he’d hoped for, ‘you can leave whenever you want.

No, but by that reasoning,’ she said slowly, ‘anyone who I’ve never met in the flesh might actually be me.

Simply put: the easiest and most likely explanation, however mundane, is probably correct.

I don’t back out of a long and happy make-believe union just when things start getting rocky

His wife waited at home, still asleep.  That made him frown.  Martise was normally an early riser, excruciatingly energetic and cheerful, even before the dawn sun broke the horizon.

Other early risers sparsely dusted the street outside.

at least this way I never get to be a nightwalker, lumbering around the Winter, eating beetles and curtains and people and stuff

The truth didn't dawn on me. The truth is an early riser and when I finally blinked awake, it was glaring.

You can’t blame your boss for not giving you the support you need. Plenty of people will say, ‘It’s my boss’s fault.’ No, it’s actually your fault because you haven’t educated him, you haven’t influenced him, you haven’t explained to him in a manner he understands why you need this support that you need. That’s extreme ownership. Own it all.” A Good Reason to Be an Early Riser “I’m up and getting after it by 4: 45. I like to have that psychological win over the enemy. For me, when I wake up in the morning—and I don’t know why—I’m thinking about the enemy and what they’re doing. I know I’m not on active duty anymore, but it’s still in my head: that there’s a guy in a cave somewhere, he’s rocking back and forth, and he’s got a machine gun in one hand and a grenade in the other. He’s waiting for me, and we’re going to meet. When I wake up in the morning, I’m thinking to myself: What can I do to be ready for that moment, which is coming? That propels me out of bed.” TF: This story has compelled so many listeners to start waking early that there is a #0445club hashtag on Twitter, featuring pictures of wristwatches. It’s still going strong more than a year after the podcast.

Bagan, Myanmar On the banks of the Ayeyarwady River in Central Myanmar lies the truly extraordinary area of Bagan. It is home to the largest collection of Buddhist pagodas, temples and ruins anywhere in the world. Some of the structures are almost 1000 years. Although none are as impressive as those at Angkor, the sheer number is what is remarkable. The town itself is a fairly laid back affair. If you're an early riser you might just catch some of the rituals that the monks and monkettes (yes there are female monks, shaved head and all) go through each morning or even a novice monk initiation ceremony.

Be an early riser. The less morning light you expose yourself to, the more difficult it will be for you to fall asleep and wake up at your set time.

No other city I know can match the sheer vitality of Rome at the hour just before midmorning. Rome wakes with a self-satisfied stretching of the limbs and a deep inhalation, stimulating the lungs, quickening the pulse. Rome wakes with a smile, roused from pleasant dreams, for every night Rome goes to sleep dreaming a dream of empire. In the morning Rome opens her eyes, ready to go about the business of making that dream come true in broad daylight. Other cities cling to sleep—Alexandria and Athens to warm dreams of the past, Pergamum and Antioch to a coverlet of Oriental splendor, little Pompeii and Herculaneum to the luxury of napping till noon. Rome is happy to shake off sleep and begin her agenda for the day. Rome has work to do. Rome is an early riser.

Another woman was accompanied by a man with the most unfortunate facial hair Jane had ever seen—a moustache no thicker than dental floss that started under his nose and continued down either side of his mouth to meet on his chin. It looked like someone had circled an area on his face with a marker and said, 'This here is where your moustache and beard should go.

All parents want to hear good things about their children, but sometimes you had to say bad things. If you said the bad things too subtly, the parents didn’t believe you. If you said the bad things too baldly, the parents got upset. Actually, they often didn’t believe you anyway and then they got upset, too. It was like having an intervention for an alcoholic every twenty minutes for an entire working day.

In 2008, a study from the University of North Texas found that students who identified themselves as morning people earned significantly higher grades. In fact, the early risers had a full grade point higher than the night owls in the study with a 3.5 to 2.5 GPA respectively.

All parents want to hear good things about their children, but sometimes you had to say bad things. If you said the bad things too subtly, the parents didn’t believe you. If you said the bad things too baldly, the parents got upset. Actually, they often didn’t believe you anyway and then they got upset, too.

Holmes is always an early riser, doesn’t care to sleep in much. But I also think that’s because he wrestles his demons when he’s asleep. I also think it’s why he gets lost in his books, so he doesn’t have to face reality.

Last year, one of the third-grade teachers had returned to school following her maternity leave and quit for good a month later. “It turns out I can be nice at work or nice at home,” the teacher told Jane. “Not both.

All Villains were English, and descendants of the upper classes who had been pushed to the edges of the Albion Peninsula after the devastating Class Wars of the nineteenth century.

Webster seemed to me either a man without a past, or a man eager not to have one.

Fowls are incessant feeders and early risers, if we incessantly feed our minds healthfully and rise early to our possibilities and responsibilities, we will crow with success.

I’ve always been suspicious of game changers,’ she added. ‘Sometimes the game doesn’t need changing – or no one has a clear idea of which game will be changed, and for what and how much.

I quickly learned that people in this mountainous region aren’t early risers, preferring for the sun to take the chill off the landscape before doing much stirring around.

Summer finally came, all at once. Grass turned green, flowers burst into bloom, birds were everywhere, and temperatures zoomed up into the eighties, as though the weather wanted to catch people unawares and make them complain about the heat.

Oh, the joy of a shared life! The joy is not—as many people believe—building a future with someone, or opening your heart to another human being, or even the ability to gift each other money with limited tax consequences. The joy is in the dailiness.

How could Duncan not realize that every time you fell in love and it didn’t work out, it scraped out a little piece of you, like scooping out a piece of cantaloupe with a melon baller, and there were only so many times that could happen before the scoop marks started to show? That in really no time at all, your heart could become a cold, pockmarked stone?

Early risers triples prosperity via path of least resistance through enrichments in health wealth and wisdom