It was almost December, and Jonas was beginning to be frightened.
first-sentence opening-lines
Barrabas came to us by sea, the child Clara wrote in her delicate calligraphy.
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One Christmas was so much like another, in those years around the sea-town corner now and out of all sound except the distant speaking of the voices I sometimes hear a moment before sleep, that I can never remember whether it snowed for six days and six nights when I was twelve or whether it snowed for twelve days and twelve nights when I was six.
I am nothing but a corpse now, a body at the bottom of a well.
Sometimes when you work in advertising you'll get a product that's really garbage and you have to make it seem fantastic, something that is essential to the continued quality of life.
You are about to begin reading Italo Calvino's new novel, If on a winter's night a traveler.
CLARE: The library is cool and smells like carpet cleaner, although all I can see is marble.
We are both busy people, so let's cut the small talk.
All day, the colors had been those of dusk, mist moving like a water creature across the great flanks of mountains possessed of ocean shadows and depths.
Miss Brooke had that kind of beauty which seems to be thrown into relief by poor dress.
I often dream about the Dolphin Hotel.
At school I was careful not to look like I watched everything, but I did.
Quite like old times,' the room says.
Nothing ever happens to me.
At last, the luminous match was struck and the day was lit.
Look, I didn't want to be a half-blood.
first-sentence first-lines opening-lines
Early this morning, 1 January 2021, three minutes after midnight, the last human being to be born on earth was killed in a pub brawl in a suburb of Buenos Aires, aged twenty-five years, two months and twelve days.
They say when trouble comes close ranks, and so the white people did.
See the child.
Snowman wakes before dawn.
Five hours' New York jet lag and Cayce Pollard wakes in Camden Town to the dire and ever-circling wolves of disrupted circadian rhythm.
Ten days after the war ended, my sister Laura drove a car off a bridge.
The first I heard of the beach was in Bangkok, on the Ko Sanh Road.
At the age of three my grand aunt proclaimed her independence by categorically refusing to have her feet bound, resolutely tearing off the bandages as fast as they were applied.
It was hot, the night we burned Chrome.
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