quote
First lines of books read in 2011:
On January 29, 1951, David Lacks sat behind the wheel of his old Buick, watching the rain fall. He was parked under a towering oak tree outside Johns Hopkins Hospital with three of his children – two still in diapers – waiting for their mother, Henrietta.
The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks by Rebecca Skloot
One sunny, crisp Saturday in September when I was seven years old, I watched my father drop dead. I was playing with my favorite doll on the stone wall that bordered our driveway while he mowed the lawn. One minute he was mowing, and the next, he was face first in the grass as the mower propelled itself in slow motion down the hill of our backyard.
Sing You Home by Jodi Picoult
Like most fathers, mine could occasionally be prevailed on for a spot of “Airplane”.
Fun Home by Alison Bechtel
My brother is eight years older than I am. I was a big surprise. A wonderful surprise, my mom would be quick to tell you.
Bossypants by Tina Fey
We threw a party. The same party, every year, when I was a kid. It was a spring lamb roast, and we roasted four or five whole little guys who each weighed only about forty pounds over an open fire and invited more than a hundred people.
Blood, Bones & Butter by Gabrielle Hamilton
My father arrived on a rainy morning. I was dreaming about a poem, the dull thluck thluck of typewriter’s keys punching out the letters. It was a good poem – perhaps the best I’d ever written.
The Boat by Nam Le
When we met each other two years ago (on match.com), we immediately noticed a shared love of language and books. And almost since that time, we’ve been working on books together.
Dear John, I Love Jane by Candace Walsh and Laura Andre
I have to start by telling you that my entire existence could be summed up in one phrase. And that is: if my life wasn’t funny it would just be true, and that is unacceptable.
Wishful Drinking by Carrie Fisher
Miss Polly Harrington entered her kitchen a little hurriedly this June morning.
Pollyanna by Eleanor H. Porter
It began as a lark. “I think I’m going to swear off restaurant food for a while,” I told my friends at a beer garden in Brooklyn. It was the middle of August, the dogs days of summer 2006.
The Art of Eating In by Cathy Erway
I’m writing this chapter with the radio silent. The TV black. The room dark. The pinging of the emails silenced. I am focused on nothing else but this glowing computer screen, the blinking cursor, and the words appearing in Helvetica twelve-point font.
My Life as an Experiment by AJ Jacobs
There was a hand in the darkness, and it held a knife.
The Graveyard Book by Neil Gaiman
The purpose of this book is to transform your thinking about life and work.
The Art of Non-Conformity by Chris Guillebeau
All I could see from where I stood Was three long mountains and a wood; I turned and looked another way, And saw three islands in a bay.
Renascence and Other Poems by Edna St. Vincent Millay
I stare down at my shoes, watching as a fine layer of ash settles on the worn leather.
Mockingjay by Suzanne Collins
I clasped the flask between my hands even though the warmth from the tea had long since leached into the frozen air.
Catching Fire by Suzanne Collins
I told you last night that I might be gone sometime, and you said, Where, and I said, To be with the Good Lord, and you said, Why, and I said, Because I’m old, and you said, I don’t think you’re old.
Gilead by Marilynne Robinson
Mr. Jones, of the Manor Farm, had locked the hen-houses for the night, but was too drunk to remember to shut the popholes.
Animal Farm by George Orwell
Sophie couldn’t sleep. A brilliant moonbeam was slanting through a gap in the curtains. It was shining right on her pillow.
BFG by Roald Dahl
My husband left me.
Unbearable Lightness by Portia de Rossi
When I wake up, the other side of the bed is cold.
The Hunger Games by Suzanne Collins
Buck did not read the newspapers, or he would have known that trouble was brewing, not alone for himself, but for every tide-water dog, strong of muscle and with warm, long hair, from Puget Sound to San Diego.
The Call of the Wild by Jack London
When I was very young, my mother took me for walks in Humboldt Park, along the edges of the Prairie River.
Just Kids by Patti Smith
Coraline discovered the door a little while after they moved into the house.
Coraline by Neil Gaiman
Almustafa, the chosen and the beloved, who was a dawn unto his own day, had waited twelve years in the city of Orphalese for his ship that was to return and bear him back to the isle of his birth.
The Prophet by Khalil Gibran
The Nellie, a cruising yawl, swung to her anchor without a flutter of the sails, and was at rest.
Heart of Darkness by Joseph Conrad
The story goes that Mom, recently married, prepared a spaghetti dinner for Dad to enjoy upon coming home from work.
The Amateur Gourmet by Adam Roberts
You have to understand how bad things were for me back then.
How I Became a Famous Novelist by Steve Hely
My grandfather had early on, in a manner worthy of Socrates himself, engaged me in the search for what is Real.
Kitchen Table Wisdom by Rachel Naomi Remen
On the pleasant shore of the French Riviera, about half way between Marseilles and the Italian border, stands a large, proud, rose-colored hotel.
Tender is the Night by F. Scott Fitzgerald
Marley was dead: to begin with.
A Christmas Carol by Charles Dickens
Alice was beginning to get very tired of sitting by her sister on the bank, and of having nothing to do: once or twice she had peeped into the book her sister was reading, but it had no pictures or conversations in it, ‘and what is the use of a book,’ thought Alice ‘without pictures or conversation?’
Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland by Lewis Carroll
Andy Bellefleur was as drunk as a skunk.
Living Dead in Dallas by Charlaine Harris
In the shade of the house, in the sunshine of the riverbank near the boats, in the shade of the Sal-wood forest, in the shade of the fig tree is where Siddhartha grew up, the handsome son of the Brahman, the young falcon, together with his friend Govinda, son of a Brahman.
Siddhartha by Hermann Hesse
I’d been waiting for the vampire for years when he walked into the bar.
Dead Until Dark by Charlaine Harris
I am always drawn back to places where I have lived, the houses and their neighborhoods.
Breakfast at Tiffany’s by Truman Capote
