#opening

You cannot reform your society or institution without opening your mind. ↗

— Bashar al-Assad

#institution #mind #opening #reform #society

It was almost December, and Jonas was beginning to be frightened. ↗

— Lois Lowry

#opening-lines #first-sentence

The other thing in composition is opening up the unconscious. ↗

— John Fahey

#opening #other #thing #unconscious #up

Opening day. All you have to do is say the words and you feel the shutters thrown wide, the room air out, the light pour in. In baseball, no other day is so pure with possibility. No scores yet, no losses, no blame or disappointment. No hangover, at least until the game's over. ↗

— Mary Schmich

#baseball #blame #day #disappointment #feel

The Wheel of Time turns, and Ages come and pass, leaving memories that become legend. Legend fades to myth, and even myth is long forgotten when the Age that gave it birth comes again. In one Age, called the Third Age by some, an Age yet to come, an Age long past, a wind rose in the Mountains of Mist. The wind was not the beginning. There are neither beginnings nor endings to the turning of the Wheel of Time. But it was a beginning. ↗

— Robert Jordan

#opening-lines #age

I rode it once, which was up the driveway in the opening credits of the show. I didn't know how to stop it. I actually nearly killed the director of photography, and I smashed into the sound truck. ↗

— Henry Winkler

#credits #director #driveway #how #i

My name is Salmon, like the fish; first name, Susie. I was fourteen when I was murdered. ↗

— Alice Sebold

#inspirational #life-and-death #opening-lines #death

Awakened by a thousand dogs, a passing truck, the tailspin of a poisoned mosquito (or, perhaps, merely the silence of my dreams), I had, before remembering who and where I was, seen only that green sun suspended in the firmament of my room (her uterus bottled in preserving fluids) and, through seconds that became millennia, millennia aeons, felt the steadfastness of my orbit around that cold glow of love, a marvelous fatal steadfastness, before my pupils dilated and shadows and unease once more defined reality, the steel box naked but for a mattress and insomnious bugs where I had lived, in a coma of heartbreak and drunkenness, the six months since Primavera's death. ↗

— Richard Calder

#death

Mma Ramotswe had a detective agency in Africa, at the foot of Kgale Hill. These were its assets: a tiny white van, two desks, two chairs, a telephone, and an old typewriter. Then there was a teapot, in which Mma Ramotswe – the only lady private detective in Botswana – brewed redbush tea. And three mugs – one for herself, one for her secretary, and one for the client. What else does a detective agency really need? Detective agencies rely on human intuition and intelligence, both of which Mma Ramotswe had in abundance. No inventory would ever include those, of course. ↗

— Alexander McCall Smith

#intelligence

There was a hand in the darkness, and it held a knife. ↗

— Neil Gaiman

#opening-lines #first-sentence