Unlocking Literary Portals: The Mesmerizing Allure of First Lines

One evening of late summer, before the nineteenth century had reached one third of it's span, a young man and woman, the latter carrying a child, were approaching the large village of Weydon-Priors, in upper Wessex, on foot.

But I particularly love the last part of the final sentence -

...... she whose youth had seemed to teach that happiness was but the occasional episode in a general drama of pain.

"Marley was dead: to begin with. First line from my favourite Christmas story.

RosiesMaw

Robert who?

Robert Thier, I liked his Storm and silence series. I've linked his page if you want to check him out.

henetha

One evening of late summer, before the nineteenth century had reached one third of it's span, a young man and woman, the latter carrying a child, were approaching the large village of Weydon-Priors, in upper Wessex, on foot.

But I particularly love the last part of the final sentence -

...... she whose youth had seemed to teach that happiness was but the occasional episode in a general drama of pain.

we are, coincidentally, atm watching this, with Ciaran Hinds
in the titular role. The opening, of the silent march into market, is a visual reckoning of the opening lines…

a story of chance and coincidences…

good call, henetha

As Gregor Samsa awoke one morning from uneasy dreams he found himself transformed in his bed into a gigantic insect.

Marmin, we referenced this story only this morning !
(when I was lying in bed feeling neglected)

Amazing coincidence, FrankandErnest.
It's wonderful isn't it. A great favourite book of mine and a lovely film too.
I always wished I was called Elizabeth Jane.

The year began with lunch.

"Mom and Pop were just a couple of kids when they got married. He was eighteen, she was sixteen, and I was three. "
First line of Billie Holiday's autobiography!

I’ve quoted the following paragraph before, it comes from a book that I certainly didn’t enjoy or admire and definitely never wanted to re-read, but I thought and still think the opening paragraph is astonishing.
“Lolita, light of my life, fire of my loins. My sin, my soul. Lo-Lee-ta: the tip of the tongue taking a trip of three steps down the palate to tap, at three, on the teeth. Lo. Lee. Ta. She was Lo, plain Lo, in the morning, standing four feet ten in one sock. She was Lola in slacks. She was Dolly at school. She was Dolores on the dotted line. But in my arms she was always Lolita”.
Lolita, Vladimir Nabokov.