What you see in the interview will not get significantly better when the individual is hired.
So all night long the storm roared on: The morning broke without a sun; In tiny spherule traced with lines Of Nature’s geometric signs, In starry flake, and pellicle, All day the hoary meteor fell; And, when the second morning shone, We looked upon a world unknown, On nothing we could call our own. Around the glistening wonder bent The blue walls of the firmament, No cloud above, no earth below,— A universe of sky and snow!
Part of my function as a writer is to dream awake. And that usually happens. If I sit down to write in the morning, in the beginning of that writing session and the ending of that session, I'm aware that I'm writing. I'm aware of my surroundings. It's like shallow sleep on both ends, when you go to bed and when you wake up. But in the middle, the world is gone and I'm able to see better.
I stuck my head out the window this morning and spring kissed me bang in the face.
Finding your passion is like finding your career soul mate. You 'date around' a bit, trying various jobs, but one day you find something you love so much you wanna marry it and see it every morning before your first cup of coffee.
I hit my knees every morning and every night to give thanks for being alive and all the blessings I have. And in the middle of chaos, it's been suggested to me to stop and truly look around, notice the sky, the trees, the grass, and realize you're part of it all, which is hard when you really want to focus on what you think is bothering you. However, one of the smartest things I do is check in with my awesome wife, who is really good at screwing my head back on when needed.
This morning the world by moonlight seemed to be an immemorial acquaintance I had always meant to befriend. If there was ever a chance, it had passed. Strange to say, I feel a little that way about myself.
I think most artists start off playing in front of people and are used to doing it before they go out. I kind of did it the opposite. The thing got blown sky high and I'm on TV on "Good Morning America" doing my first performance in front of everybody. I think it was backward and from that, what I got out of it, the end is what I wanted, which was headlining my own tour, having people come because they loved my record and loved my music.
By now, the morning sun was just over the horizon and it came at me like a sidearm pitch between the houses of my old neighborhood. I shielded my eyes. This being early October, there were already piles of leaves pushed against the curb—more leaves than I remembered from my autumns here—andless open space in the sky. I think what you notice most when you haven’t been home in a while is how much the trees have grown around your memories.
I noticed that she wore her evening dress, all her dresses, like sports clothes-there was a jauntiness about her movements as if she had first learned to walk upon a golf course on clean, crisp, mornings.
We are ancients of the earth, And in the morning of the times.
I never get out of bed in the morning without having communion with God in the Spirit.
I wake up in the morning, put on my face. The one that's going to get me through another day. Doesn't really matter. . . how I feel inside. This life is like a game sometimes. When you came around me the walls just disappeared. Nothing to surround me and keep me from my fears. I'm unprotected. See how I've opened up? You've made me trust.
With an iron-clad fist, I wake up and French-kiss the morning.
There are 435 members of Congress. There's one 'Morning Joe' show. Hopefully, we can keep hammering the argument that you can disagree with other people and have debates but remain civil.
Pleasures First look from morning's window The rediscovered book Fascinated faces Snow, the change of the seasons The newspaper The dog Dialectics Showering, swimming Old music Comfortable shoes Comprehension New music Writing, planting Traveling Singing Being friendly
To write weekly, to write daily, to write shortly, to write for busy people catching trains in the morning or for tired people coming home in the evening, is a heartbreaking task for men who know good writing from bad. They do it, but instinctively draw out of harm's way anything precious that might be damaged by contact with the public, or anything sharp that might irritate its skin.
I'm not one of those writers I learned about who get up in the morning, put a piece of paper in their typewriter machine and start writing. That I've never understood.
On the last morning of Virginia's bloodiest year since the Civil War, I built a fire and sat facing a window of darkness where at sunrise I knew I would find the sea.
The difference between me and many young people is, I don't carry music with me. I like to think. I don't use any modern convenience to be talking to other people, because I like my time to think. I go to the garden in the morning, and this time, I'm thinking ideas, I'm not drawing, I'm thinking.