Literature / Literary Opening Lines

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Can you name the famous literary opening lines?

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Hide the Christmas tree away carefully, Helene.
Call me Ishmael.
'What's it going to be then, eh?'
Late in the afternoon, of a chilly day in February, two gentlemen were sitting alone over their wine, in a well-furnished dining parlor, in the town of P---, in Kentucky.
Who's there?
Far out in the uncharted backwaters of the unfashionable end of the Western Spiral arm of the Galaxy lies a small unregarded yellow sun.
Buck Mulligan came from the stairhead, bearing a bowl of lather on which a mirror and a razor lay crossed.
On an exceptionally hot evening early in July a young man came out of the garret in which he lodged in S. Place and walked slowly, as though in hesitation, towards K. Bridge.
Boys are playing basketball around a telephone pole with a backboard bolted to it.
Wars and man I sing -- an exile driven on by Fate,
3 May. Bistritz. -- Left Munich at 8:35 p.m. on 1st May, arriving at Vienna early next morning; should have arrived at 6:46, but train was an hour late.
When Gregor Samsa woke up one morning from unsettling dreams, he found himself changed in his bed into a monstrous vermin.
It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife.
Oh there is a blessing in this gentle breeze.
I first met Dean not long after my wife and I split up.
He speaks in your voice, American, and there's a shine in his eye that's halfway hopeful.
Many years later, as he faced the firing squad, Colonel Aureliano Buenida was to remember that distant afternoon when his father took him to discover ice.
All happy families are alike; each unhappy family is unhappy in its own way.
She was so deeply embedded in my consciousness that for the first year of school I seem to have believed that each of my teachers was my mother in disguise.
Of man's first disobedience.
I am seated in an office, surrounded by heads and bodies.
It was the best of times, it was the worst of times.
Midway in our life's journey, I went astray from the straight road and awoke to find myself in a dark wood.
In 1815, Monsieur Charles-Francois-Bienvenu Myriel was bishop of Digne.
See the child.
It was a bright cold day in April, and the clocks were striking thirteen.
Through the fence, between the curling flower spaces, I could see them hitting.
A green and yellow parrot, which hung in a cage outside the door, kept repeating over and over: 'Allez vous-en! Allez vous-en! Sapristi! That's all right!'
124 was spiteful.
A screaming comes across the sky.
Maman died today.
April is the cruellest month.

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