Quotes on first-lines

   In the beginning we were a group of nine.Three are gone, dead.There are six of us left.They are hunting us, and they won't stop until they've killed us all.I am Number Four.I know that I am next.    

Pittacus Lore

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David Morrell

His name was Rambo, and he was just some nothing kid for all anybody knew, standing by the pump of a gas station at the outskirts of Madison, Kentucky.

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Alice Sebold

My name is Salmon, like the fish; first name, Susie. I was fourteen when I was murdered.

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Ayn Rand

Who is John Galt?

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Bill Bryson

I come Des Moines. Somebody had to.

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William Shakespeare

Where shall we three meet again in thunder, lightning, or in rain? When the hurlyburly 's done, when the battle 's lost and won

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Bob Mayer

In darkness there is death.

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James Joyce

Stately, plump Buck Mulligan came from the stairhead, bearing a bowl of lather on which a mirror and a razor lay crossed.

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Anita Brookner

Dr Weiss, at forty, knew that her life had been ruined by literature

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Erich Segal

What can you say about a twenty-five-year-old girl who died?

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Mitch Albom

This is the story of a man named Eddie and it starts at the end, with Eddie dying in the sun. It may seem strange to start a story with and ending, but all endings are also beginnings. We just don't know it at the time.

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Ursula K. Le Guin

I'll make my report as if I told a story, for I was taught as a child on my homeworld that Truth is a matter of the imagination.

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Lyda Morehouse

I never sleep. Like the dolphin and the spiny anteater, I don't experience REM. Unlike the dreamless mammals, I'm a construct. I am a living program inside a vast network of electronic impulses known as the LINK. In that datastream I've uncovered the meaning of another kind of dreaming--that of a fond hope or aspiration, a yearning, a desire, or a passion. This much I have. When I dream, I dream of Mecca.

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Rae Hachton

I never really wanted to die. But I followed through anyway. The pain in my heart was excruciating, and death was beautiful.

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H.G. Wells

No one would have believed in the last years of the nineteenth century that this world was being watched keenly and closely by intelligences greater than man's and yet as mortal as his own; that as men busied themselves about their various concerns they were scrutinised and studied, perhaps almost as narrowly as a man with a microscope might scrutinise the transient creatures that swarm and multiply in a drop of water.

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Rick Riordan

Look, I didn't want to be a half-blood.

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George Orwell

The idea really came to me the day I got my new false teeth.

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Greg Nagan

It was a bright cold day in April, and the clocks were striking thirteen. It was the future, and everything sucked.

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Frederick Forsyth

It is cold at six-forty in the morning on a March day in Paris, and seems even colder when a man is about to be executed by firing squad.

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Melina Marchetta

This morning, my mother didn't get out of bed.

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Jonathan Kellerman

It was shaping up as a beautiful morning. The last thing I wanted to hear about was murder.

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Ernest Hemingway

Robert Cohn was once middleweight boxing champion of Princeton.

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Josh Aterovis

There is a delicate-looking plant native to North America called bleeding heart.

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Herman Melville

Call me Ishmael. Some years ago--never mind how long precisely--having little or no money in my purse, and nothing particular to interest me on shore, I thought I would sail about a little and see the watery part of the world. It is a way I have of driving off the spleen and regulating the circulation. Whenever I find myself growing grim about the mouth; whenever it is a damp, drizzly November in my soul; whenever I find myself involuntarily pausing before coffin warehouses, and bringing up the rear of every funeral I meet; and especially whenever my hypos get such an upper hand of me, that it requires a strong moral principle to prevent me from deliberately stepping into the street, and methodically knocking people's hats off--then, I account it high time to get to sea as soon as I can. This is my substitute for pistol and ball. With a philosophical flourish Cato throws himself upon his sword; I quietly take to the ship. There is nothing surprising in this.If they but knew it, almost all men in their degree, some time or other, cherish very nearly the same feelings towards the ocean with me.There now is your insular city of the Manhattoes, belted round by wharves as Indian isles by coral reefs--commerce surrounds it with her surf. Right and left, the streets take you waterward. Its extreme downtown is the battery, where that noble mole is washed by waves, and cooled by breezes, which a few hours previous were out of sight of land. Look at the crowds of water-gazers there.Circumambulate the city of a dreamy Sabbath afternoon. Go from Corlears Hook to Coenties Slip, and from thence, by Whitehall, northward. What do you see?--Posted like silent sentinels all around the town, stand thousands upon thousands of mortal men fixed in ocean reveries. Some leaning against the spiles; some seated upon the pier-heads; some looking over the bulwarks of ships from China; some high aloft in the rigging, as if striving to get a still better seaward peep. But these are all landsmen; of week days pent up in lath and plaster--tied to counters, nailed to benches, clinched to desks. How then is this? Are the green fields gone? What do they here?But look! here come more crowds, pacing straight for the water, and seemingly bound for a dive. Strange! Nothing will content them but the extremest limit of the land; loitering under the shady lee of yonder warehouses will not suffice. No. They must get just as nigh the water as they possibly can without falling in. And there they stand--miles of them--leagues. Inlanders all, they come from lanes and alleys, streets and avenues--north, east, south, and west. Yet here they all unite. Tell me, does the magnetic virtue of the needles of the compasses of all those ships attract them thither?Once more. Say you are in the country; in some high land of lakes. Take almost any path you please, and ten to one it carries you down in a dale, and leaves you there by a pool in the stream. There is magic in it. Let the most absent-minded of men be plunged in his deepest reveries--stand that man on his legs, set his feet a-going, and he will infallibly lead you to water, if water there be in all that region. Should you ever be athirst in the great American desert, try this experiment, if your caravan happen to be supplied with a metaphysical professor. Yes, as every one knows, meditation and water are wedded for ever.

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Ray Bradbury

It was a pleasure to burn.

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Pittacus Lore

In the beginning we were a group of nine.Three are gone, dead.There are six of us left.They are hunting us, and they won't stop until they've killed us all.I am Number Four.I know that I am next.

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