The first lines in books are their...
PICK-UP LINES If they work for you, you can take them home!
“Late in the winter of my seventeenth year, my mother decided I was depressed, presumably because I rarely left the house, spent quite a lot of time in bed, read the same book over and over, ate infrequently, and devoted quite a bit of my abundant free time to thinking about death.”
“Mr. and Mrs. Dursley, of number four, Privet Drive, were proud to say that they were perfectly normal, thank you very much. They were the last people you’d expect to be involved in anything strange or mysterious, because they just didn’t hold with such nonsense.”
“Here’s everything I know about France: Madeline and Amelie and Moulin Rouge. The Eiffel Tower and the Arc de Triomphe, although I have no idea what the function of either is. Napoleon, Marie Antoinette, and a lot of kings named Louis.”
“In a hole in the ground there lived a hobbit. Not a nasty, dirty, wet hole, filled with the ends of worms and an oozy smell, nor yet a dry, bare, sandy hole with nothing in it to sit down on or to eat: it was a hobbit-hole, and that means comfort.”
“There is one mirror in my house. It is behind a sliding panel in the hallway upstairs. Our faction allows me to stand in front of it on the second day of every third month, the day my mother cuts my hair.”
“The basement hallways in King’s College of Medical Research were dark, even in the daytime. At night they were like a grave.”
“Blue Sargent had forgotten how many times she’d been told that she would kill her true love.”
“The early morning sky was the color of cat vomit. Of course, Tally thought, you’d have to feed your cat only salmonflavored cat food for a while, to get the pinks right.”
“I remember being born. In fact, I remember a time before that. There was no light, but there was music: joints creaking, blood rushing, the heart’s staccato lullaby, a rich symphony of indigestion.”
“It has been sixtyfour years since the president and the Consortium identified love as a disease, and fortythree since scientists perfected a cure.”
“The end of the world started when a pegasus landed on the hood of my car.”
“She spoke to him before the world fell apart.”
“They took me in my nightgown.”
“There was a hand in the darkness, and it held a knife.”
“Everyone does it. Dies, I
mean. I found this out for myself on my seventeenth birthday when I was killed in a freak car accident on my prom night. But it was no accident.”
“The match snapped, then sizzled and I woke up fast. I heard my mother inhale as she took a long pull on a cigarette. Her lips stuck on the filter, so I knew she was still wearing lipstick. She’d been up all night.”
“The tree woman choked on poison, the slow sap of her blood burning.”
“I wake up barefoot, standing on cold slate tiles. Looking dizzily down. I suck in a breath of icy air.”
“Mommy forgot to warn the new babysitter about the basement.”
“Pepper lay strapped to a blunt, coneshaped heatshield with a hundred miles of Chilo’s atmosphere to fall through yet.”
