I love first lines of novels and all that they promise. I love last lines too but I think if I posted those people would get cross.
Here’s my growing list of first lines in particular order:
Once upon a time there was a captain on a wide sea, a rough and windswept sea, and his good barque was pitched and tossed something cruel. (Kim Scott, That Deadman Dance)
My dear son James has given me a task for my last years, or months or whatever time I have left beyond the many years I have lived so far. (Kate Grenville, A Room Made of Leaves)
The first place I remember well was a large pleasant meadow with a pond of clear water in it. (Anna Sewell, Black Beauty, the autobiography of a horse)
In the days when the spinning-wheels hummed busily in the farmhouses – and even great ladies, clothed in silk and thread-lace, had their toy spinning-wheels of polished oak – there might be seen, in districts far away among the lanes, or deep in the bosom of the hills, certain palled undersized men, who, by the side of the brawny country-folk, looked like the remnants of a disinherited race. (George Eliot, Silas Marner)
While Pearl Tull was dying, a funny thought occurred to her. (Anne Tyler, Dinner at the Homesick Restaurant)
I was born on Ngurambang – can you hear it? – Ngu-ram-bang. (Tara June Winch, The Yield)
I’m standing on a cliff. (Sarah Brill, Glory)