Best Book Opening Lines Novels & Stories

She opened it, the first page reading Boy loses Girl.

I said, pouting my lips. "I haven't tried the romance genre, I am sure that's what you enjoy writing the most," he added, winking. I smiled at him, nodding my head shyly. "So tell me the title of your best written book." I asked. "Detective Johnson." I gasped out loudly, I have read that book a couple of times, it was one of the best books I have ever read, when it comes to the descriptions, dictions and all. That book is terrific.

The third book, beginning. Not in a hurry. The best things never are.

“Out loud. In this room.” Rhys looks at me. I look at the carpet. The book is in my bag because the book is always in my bag because carrying the book is like carrying proof that I was someone before the arrangement – a writer, a person, a girl with a voice, a woman whose words mattered enough to bind and sell – and I pull out the manuscript and open to page one and the first sentence sits on the page the way the first sentence always sits, with the specific gravity of an opening line that changed my life.

A familiar bookshelf slid away from the wall. An old leather-bound volume floated toward my hands. I smiled. "Thank you." The castle hummed quietly. Almost proudly. I opened the book. Its title immediately caught my attention. The Awakening of Dormant Bloodlines My heartbeat quickened. I sat immediately. The first chapters described different awakening methods used throughout history. Some involved meditation. Others difficult trials. Several required guidance from an awakened relative. Then... A sentence made me stop reading. I read it again. Then a third time.

I asked all three of them. I could see Cain smiling down at me with pride. “Well, novels would be great. That’s a good starting point for any beginner,” the first man said. “I agree, and you could make picks from romance, mystery and thrillers, and even historical fiction,” the second man responded. “We have a list of the top bestselling authors. You will be glued to every book you select,” the third one said. I became relaxed almost immediately, but then again, Cain’s phone beeped.

A few seconds later, she looks up. “Try summarizing with your own metaphors,” I add. “Whatever image comes first. It sticks longer.” “Even if it’s dumb?” “Especially if it’s dumb.” She smiles faintly and begins writing. I leaned over, flipped her book to a fresh page. The Stranger, Camus. A classic. “Read the first paragraph. Then stop.” She obeyed. I asked, “What does the tone tell you?” “That the narrator’s... cold?” “Cold is a temperature. Try again.”

“You said you read?” “Of course” Came a proud smirk across his lips and she showed him all she had managed to come up with for the past hour which was just a blank word document. “You could help me with my opening line. It should be catchy and dramatic and funny. Not funny mild. I want it to be hilarious” She explained and he saw just how much she wanted to tell this story by the way her eyes lit up with the sun shining in them.

It was warm. Not the sharp urgent warmth of the tower flame or the pulsing heat of my wrist mark in moments of high feeling. Something older and quieter than that. The warmth of something that had been waiting in a dark place for a very long time and was simply relieved, in a way that had no urgency left in it, to finally be found. I opened it. --- The first page had no chapter heading. No introduction. No author named. Just a single line, written in ink so dark it was nearly black, in handwriting that was small and careful and had the particular quality of someone who wrote as though every word cost something and was therefore worth spending precisely:

* The thought made her mouth water despite the flutter of panic in her belly, her small hands trembling as she wrapped them around the base, fingers barely meeting around the girth, the skin hot and velvet-smooth under her palms, pulsing with his heartbeat. Trent threaded his fingers gently into her ponytail at first, guiding her forward. "Open wide, naughty girl. First time's gotta be sloppy." Lucy parted her lips hesitantly, tongue darting out to lap the pre-cum salty-bitter tang exploding on her taste buds, making her pussy clench wetly in her panties. She stretched her jaw wide, the head popping past her lips with a soft, obscene suck, filling her mouth instantly. The ridges bumped her t