No matter what night preceded it, [Dagny] had never known a morning when she did not feel the rise of a quiet excitement that became a tightening energy in her body and a hunger for action in her mind—because it was the beginning of day and it was a day of her life…. She sat down at her desk, smiling in defiance at the distastefulness of her job. She hated the reports that she had to finish reading, but it was her job, it was her railroad, it was morning.
Ayn Rand, Atlas Shrugged
