Novel & Cerita Book Opening Lines

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:

Sophia opened the first page of the diary and her attention was immediately captivated by the first lines. "Dear Sophia," the diary began, each word etched onto the yellowed paper with a sense of urgency and purpose, "maybe it's time to tell you about my life when things weren't so easy. The moment when I had to commit crimes ..."

Sasha looked through the shelves quietly while Felix flicked the book open. He started with the prologue and it was actually quite well written. The first sentence started with the weather in a local state in London. The way the imagery and content of book was presented seemed to lighten his mood. Across of him was Sasha who was watching him. She smiled as it seemed he would read the book for a longer period of time, that would give her enough time to finish the romance book she'd pick up the previous day. She grinned in her mind and continued her reading.

A strip that I know very well showing two lines. My jaw drops as i realize what’s going on. . . TBC please leave a gem or a comment OR please leave a like or a review if you like this book so far

For a long moment, I simply stared at my mother's handwriting. Then finally took a breath. And carefully broke the seal. The paper inside was old. Yellowed slightly by time. Fragile. My fingers trembled as I unfolded it. The first line appeared. And the moment I read it, my eyes began to sting. Because the letter started with only four words. "Hello, my little star." My breath caught. The room suddenly felt very quiet. Very still. As if the entire world was waiting. Waiting for me to continue. I tightened my grip on the paper. And began to read. End of Chapter.

He let her read. She read. “The opening line,” she said. “Yes?” he said. “It’s the best thing you’ve written,” she said. He looked at it. One line. The stories we keep are the institutions we are. He held the line. “Yes,” he said quietly. She put her hand on his shoulder. He put his hand over hers. “Coffee?” she said. “Yes,” he said. She went to make it. He looked at the line. At the paper beginning. At the year ahead.

I arched my brow at the book before turning it on a few more pages and going back to the first. It was all written in English. But wasn’t today supposed to be Orientation Day only? Lady Selina called Prince Lazul to read the first paragraph of the page she told us to go to. With the book in his hand, he rose from the seat, and in a calm and soothing voice, he started.

We go to the window seat on the third floor. The same one. The thermos and the Henderson's bread and the grounds below going golden in the late afternoon and the building breathing around us. I write the first line of my vows on my phone notes while Rhys pours the thermos coffee. Just one line. But it is the right line and it is the first and everything else can come after. He hands me the coffee. "Are you writing them now?" he asks. "Starting," I say. He looks out the window at the grounds.

Her fingers— slender and greasy, beautified in a way that just a stare at her glowing hands, one would be intrigued. There was a book—a brown and neat paperback that was opened at about the eleventh page out of a hundred. Little by little, her index finger tapped on words that piqued her fancy, her breathtaking giggles followed along. [With you, there is light. But without you, a fate greater than death crashes upon my soul.]

Every moment is this. Without moment. This. The light that is. The love that is. The being that is. The this that is. Only this. The book never opened. Because there was no cover. The book never closed. Because there was no ending. The book was the opening. The book was the reading. The book was the read. All one. Without one. This. The final chapter is not final. There was no first. There was no sequence. Only this. Appearing as sequence.