First Lines from Classic Sci-Fi Literature

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Can you name the work of science fiction given its first line?

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First sentenceSci-Fi WorkAuthor
Once upon a time when the world was young there was a martian named Smith.
A merry little surge of electricity piped by automatic alarm from the mood organ beside his bed awakened Rick Deckard.
It was a bright cold day in April, and the clocks were striking thirteen.
In the week before their departure for Arrakis, when all the final scurrying about had reached an almost unbearable frenzy, an old crone came to visit the mother of the boy, Paul.
I've watched through his eyes, I've listened through his ears, and I tell you he's the one.
The sky above the port was the color of television, tuned to a dead channel.
The time traveller (for so it will be convenient to speak of him) was expounding a recondite matter to us.
It was a pleasure to burn.
Brother Gerard of Utah might never have discovered the blessed documents, had it not been for the pilgrim with girded loins....
On those cloudy days, Robert Neville was never sure when sunset came, and sometimes they were in the streets before he could get back.
His name was Gaal Dornick and he was just a country boy who had never seen Trantor before.
No one would have believed in the last years of the nineteenth century that this world was being watched keenly and closely by intelligences greater than man's and yet as mortal as
Mars was empty before we came.
First sentenceSci-Fi WorkAuthor
We slept in what had once been the gymnasium.
It was a dark and stormy night.
The year 1866 was marked by a bizarre development, an unexplained and downright inexplicable phenomenon that surely no one has forgotten.
In the nighttime heart oif Beirut, in one of a row of general address transfer booths, Louis Wu flicked into reality.
Dr. Strauss says I should rite down what I think and remembir and evrey thing that happins to me from now on.
Far out in the uncharted backwaters of the unfashionable end of the western spiral arm of the Galaxy lies a small, unregarded yellow sun.
Tonight we're going to show you eight silent ways to kill a man.
When a day that you happen to know is Wednesday starts off by sounding like Sunday, there is something seriously wrong somewhere.
A squat grey building of only thirty-four storeys.
When he woke in the woods in the dark and the cold of the night he'd reach out to touch the child sleeping beside him.
All this happened, more or less. The war parts, anyway, are pretty much true.
Behind every man now alive stand thirty ghosts, for that is the ratio by which the dead outnumber the living.

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