First Lines Of Famous Novels Novels & Stories

But Emily didn't say anything. Back at their table, Jane opened a Tale of Two Cities to see how bad it was going to be. 'It was the best of times, it was the worst of times," read the opening line. Charles Dickens could have been talking about Jane's own life.

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 ..."

She looked at the notebook. At the one line. At everything it meant and everything that came after it and the kitchen around her and the man across from her and the bread in the oven and November. She picked up the pen. She wrote below the first line: Now we begin.

The Pen of Beginnings rose into the air. It circled the notebook once... then rested gently upon its first page. Without touching it... golden letters appeared. Every choice creates another world. The moment the sentence was completed... one empty shelf trembled. A single book slowly appeared. Its cover shimmered with silver light. The title read: The First Line Adrian stared. "The chapter we just lived..." The girl nodded happily. "It became a story." Another shelf glowed. Then another. Books began appearing throughout the endless library. Every decision.

She wrote one line on the first page. She held it up so Dominic could read it. He read it. He looked at her. "Is that the book?" he said. She looked at the line. At the green ink. At the specific, first sentence of the thing she had been circling for twelve years and had not had the time or the quiet to begin. "Yes," she said. "I think it is." He refilled her wine. She looked at the line. She wrote the second one. The Siena evening held them.

“Just make it attention-grabbing.” They continued to debate the best opening line. They felt the first hook was worth getting right, like they were writing Moby Dick. They were half right. While James Baldwin and Alfred Lord Tennyson worked on their first draft, I decided to wing it. Emergency! The old god Joshaya has returned to Gorgoth with an army of immortals. If you wish to learn more, contact me at this address: I put down the name of the inn we were staying at and signed it Nelson Mandela. I felt it was a name that would engender trust. I popped the card in the barrel. Probably as effective as putting it in the bin.

I could feel an intense gaze on me but i didn’t dare to look at the direction it’s coming from. I opened my book and started working, but that feeling didn’t go away, i was definitely being watched. Mr Isaac’s voice echoed in the classroom. “Winston Smith is the protagonist of which George Orwell novel?” I raised my hand. “Yes Miss Jenkins” “1984” “Very, very good Miss Jenkins, that is correct can you tell me what genre of book does Danielle Steel primarily write?” “Romance” “Excellent! What do George Eliot, George Sand and Acton Bell all have in common?”

He wrote the first line of a new chapter. "Once, there was a man who was a beast, and a woman who was a ghost. They lived in a city of gold that turned to dust, but they found a truth that the fire couldn't touch." Behind him, a woman with tangled hair and a diamond-encased wooden ring walked out of the morning mist. She didn't have a suit, and she didn't have a name. She looked at the man writing on the wreckage and felt a strange, impossible sense of gravity.

he said. "I know," Dante said. "You said it." "In the first chapter," Elian said. "In the first chapter," Dante said. "The whole novel is there. The rest is — the specific waves." "The specific waves," Elian said, and went back to the bed with the particular energy of someone who had just been told that the first chapter of the deepest novel they would ever write was complete.

I sighed. I turned to the first story and started reading. I read story after story. Some were interesting, some were familiar, some were bizarre. Then, more than halfway through the book, I found it. The very first line read, "There once was a young girl. Her wolf had no name." It was titled, 'Child of Stars', kind of fitting since my Dad's wolf is Starfire. My wolf chimed in with her usual pessimism, 'It won't help.'