Conventional tastes
Feb. 24th, 2003 08:25 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
eyelessgameCame a bit late to the party, but this is my list of the opening lines of my top thirteen (sorry, can't get it down to ten) works of fiction... and even so I started by eliminating anything that showed up on Sherilyn's journal, a couple of which would otherwise have displaced something here.
A couple of these are sets of stories as opposed t osingle novels, and I picked either the first, best-known, or favorite among the stories (sort of arbitrarily).
The unfair bit is that I'm so utterly conventional that I'm not going to attribute them. Very few people who are the sort to read my journal will fail to identify at least nine or ten. No particular order...
How to explain? How to describe? Even the omniscient viewpoint quails.
In the nighttime heart of Beirut, in one of a row of general-address transfer booths, Louis Wu flicked into existence.
"No good!" said Lamont, sharply. "I didn't get anywhere."
Callahan's Place was pretty lively that night.
Fins had been making wisecracks about human beings for thousands of years.
The volcano that had reared Taratua up from the Pacific depths had been sleeping now for half a million years.
Once upon a time there was a Martian named Valentine Michael Smith.
Dog carcass in alley this morning, tire tread on burst stomach.
This city is afraid of me. I have seen its true face.
When Mr. Bilbo Baggins of Bag End announced that he would shortly be celebrating his eleventy-first birthday with a party of special magnificence, there was much talk and excitement in Hobbiton.
When Mr. Dildo Bugger of Bug End grudgingly announced his intention of throwing a free feed for all the boggies in his part of the Sty, the reaction in all Boggietown was immediate -- all through the messy little slum could be heard squeals of "Swell!" and "Hot puppies, grub!"
How could I have died and gone to hell without noticing the transition?
"Wake up, sir. We're here."
A couple of these are sets of stories as opposed t osingle novels, and I picked either the first, best-known, or favorite among the stories (sort of arbitrarily).
The unfair bit is that I'm so utterly conventional that I'm not going to attribute them. Very few people who are the sort to read my journal will fail to identify at least nine or ten. No particular order...
How to explain? How to describe? Even the omniscient viewpoint quails.
In the nighttime heart of Beirut, in one of a row of general-address transfer booths, Louis Wu flicked into existence.
"No good!" said Lamont, sharply. "I didn't get anywhere."
Callahan's Place was pretty lively that night.
Fins had been making wisecracks about human beings for thousands of years.
The volcano that had reared Taratua up from the Pacific depths had been sleeping now for half a million years.
Once upon a time there was a Martian named Valentine Michael Smith.
Dog carcass in alley this morning, tire tread on burst stomach.
This city is afraid of me. I have seen its true face.
When Mr. Bilbo Baggins of Bag End announced that he would shortly be celebrating his eleventy-first birthday with a party of special magnificence, there was much talk and excitement in Hobbiton.
When Mr. Dildo Bugger of Bug End grudgingly announced his intention of throwing a free feed for all the boggies in his part of the Sty, the reaction in all Boggietown was immediate -- all through the messy little slum could be heard squeals of "Swell!" and "Hot puppies, grub!"
How could I have died and gone to hell without noticing the transition?
"Wake up, sir. We're here."
