Best Opening Lines To Books Novels & Stories

Even in such a solemn moment, the little silver wolf refused to let despair linger for long. Mercy suddenly looked toward the blank Book of Origins. "It is time." The book floated into the air. Though every page had been empty moments before, words slowly began appearing—not glowing silver, not crimson, but golden. The handwriting was elegant and ancient. The Moon Goddess looked surprised. "I never wrote this." Mercy smiled knowingly. "No. You didn't." Aiden carefully read the first lines aloud: > *When the Book becomes empty...* > *Its author has finished speaking.*

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:

Don’t do that. Darling reader, you're about to embark on a journey that'll make your head spin faster than a merry-go-round. Hang on to every word as I give you a glimpse into the extraordinary life of yours truly. You'll either feel all-consuming adoration or blistering disdain for me. So, take your pick. Love me or loathe me! There's simply no room for neutrality when it comes to someone as captivating as moi.

The book is massive, easily over two thousand pages, the weight of it pulling at my arms. Of course it’s this complicated. I bite back my frustration, reminding myself that this might be the only chance I have to get answers. I carry the book to an alcove, the leather seat creaking as I lower myself into it. The book lands on the desk with a soft thud, dust rising around it in a lazy cloud. The first page is brittle, the ink faded, but I manage to make out the opening line as I try carefully not to tear the paper:

Under the island, I created thick impenetrable walls the shot up from the sky that would continue for miles and miles into the atmosphere and to the very core of earth closing the island off from attacks below and above. Sensing Celestria and Nefertari as they approached, neither one said a word they watched me in silence. The island became our fortress. The outside world would see snow and volcanoes a place no being would dare inhabit. Behind the barriers and illusions laid lush greenery and forest. Animals never before seen by man, thought to be believed as myth roamed the land freely, gardens full of vegetables. A hot spring wide enough to fit a hundred angles, deep enough to meet the oce

“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.

* 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

Too much fire and not enough air. She sat in her study, lights dim, the rain still tapping against the old glass. Before her lay a blank leather-bound book. She dipped the pen in ink, then paused. She wrote: For my son. “The world you inherit is broken. You are not born to fix it. You are born to survive it. This is not a cradle song. This is a manual of war.” She titled the first page: THE BOOK OF BLOOD She stopped. Closed her eyes. Listened to the wind.

he said, but the way he said it softened everything inside it. “You’re early,” I said, wrinkling my nose at him and dropping into the chair across from him. “That’s why I’m Gamma.” He tapped the top book with one knuckle. “Are you ready?” “No,” I admitted, and pressed my hands flat on the table to make them stop fidgeting. “But that’s never stopped me yet, has it?” He nodded like that was the answer he’d wanted either way. Then he opened the first book and turned it so the spine would stay flat, “We’ll go slow. You don’t need to know every word. You only need the ones that matter.”

While I was walking to my table, where I had left my bag, I used my hand to brush the dust off the book. The people around me glanced at me because of what had happened a while ago. I chose to ignore their stares and sat down in the chair, facing the wall next to the table. The moment I set the book down on the table, I felt an unexpected surge of interest well up inside of me. I opened the book and noticed that all of the pages were brown. This book seemed to have been written centuries ago. I gulped when I saw what was written on the first page of the book. I shivered when I read it in a low voice. "The Myth of Alpha's Rejection.”