The season developed and matured. Another year’s instalment of flowers, leaves, nightingales, thrushes, finches, and such ephemeral creatures, took up their positions where only a year ago others had stood in their place when these were nothing more than germs and inorganic particles. Rays from the sunrise drew forth the buds and stretched them into long stalks, lifted up sap in noiseless streams, opened petals, and sucked out scents in invisible jets and breathings

Smile boy, it’s the sunrise (His last movie line, ever)

Some day I shall sing to thee in the sunrise of some other world, I have seen thee before in the light of the earth, in the love of man.

When each day is the same as the next, it’s because people fail to recognize the good things that happen in their lives every day that the sun rises.

Nothing is more beautiful than the loveliness of the woods before sunrise.

Trifles make the sum of life.

Spring is the time of year when it is summer in the sun and winter in the shade.

We are like roses that have never bothered to bloom when we should have bloomed and it is as if the sun has become disgusted with waiting

Sunrise is a necessary concomitant of long railway journeys, like hard-boiled eggs, illustrated papers, packs of cards, rivers upon which boats strain but make no progress.