First Lines From a Baker’s Dozen of Kindle Samples
All on the baker's list, Mrs. Breen said.
- James Joyce,
Ulysses
It is June.
I had always wanted to be a jongleur
to leap from the shoulders of another
to fly and tumble
to dare myself in thin air
with nothing but my arms and legs
to land me safely on the ground.
Quite the aqueous callithump, her dad mutters
inching their Honda Element forward in the traffic
easing the volume up a tick.
I was looking at the map when Stephen swerved
hit the rock, and occasioned the miscarriage.
The station wagons arrived at noon
a long shining line that coursed through the west campus.
Lots of things are overrated.
Etta sang as she walked.
I am the only person in the world
who might have been able to shed light
on the mysterious death of Urbino Vanoski.
Jeff Koons had just got up from his chair
enthusiastically throwing his arms out in front of him.
From July of his sophomore year in college
until the following January
all Tsukuru Tazaki could think about was dying.
At three in the afternoon I woke up
and there was Jilly Rudolph out on the deck
flipping through the local paper.
The longer my father lived in this world
the more he knew there was another to come.
Sometimes writing a sentence can be harder than serving one.
