First Words
How novels begin
Dickens, Charles, Bleak House
"London. Michaelmas Term lately over, and the Lord Chancellor sitting in Lincoln's Inn Hall. Implacable November weather. As much mud in the streets, as if the waters had but newly retired from the face of the earth, and it would not be wonderful to meet a Megalosaurus, forty feet long or so, waddling like an elephantine lizard up Holborn Hill. Smoke lowering down from chimney-pots, making a soft black drizzle, with flakes of soot in it as big as full-grown snowflakes - gone into mourning, one might imagine, for the death of the sun. Dogs, undistinguishable in mire. Horses, scarcely better, splashed to their very blinkers. Foot passengers, jostling one another's umbrellas, in a general infection of ill-temper, and losing their foot-hold at street-corners, where tens of thousands of other foot passengers have been slipping and sliding since the day broke (if this day ever broke), adding new deposits to the crust upon crust of mud, sticking at those points tenaciously to the pavement, and accumulating at compound interest."
Dickens, Charles, Dombey and Son
"Dombey sat in the corner of the darkened room in the great armchair
by the bedside, and Son lay tucked up warm in a little basket bedstead,
carefully disposed on a low settee immediately in front of the fire and
close to it, as if his constitution were analogous to that of a muffin,
and it was essential to toast him brown while he was very new.
Dombey was about eight-and-forty years of age. Son about eight-and-forty minutes.
Dombey was rather bald, rather red, and though a handsome well-made man, too stern
and pompous in appearance, to be prepossessing. Son was very bald, and very red,
and though (of course) an undeniably fine infant, somewhat crushed and spotty in his
general effect, as yet. On the brow of Dombey, Time and his brother Care had set some
marks, as on a tree that was to come down in good time - remorseless twins they are for
striding through their human forests, notching as they go - while the countenance of Son
was crossed with a thousand little creases, which the same deceitful Time would take
delight in smoothing out and wearing away with the flat part of his scythe, as a preparation
of the surface for his deeper operations."
Dickens, Charles, Edwin Drood
"An ancient English Cathedral Tower? How can the
ancient English Cathedral tower be here! The well-known massive gray square
tower of its old Cathedral? How can that be here! There is no spike of rusty
iron in the air, between the eye and it, from any point of the real prospect.
What is the spike that intervenes, and who has set it up? Maybe it is set up
by the Sultan's orders for the impaling of a horde of Turkish robbers, one
by one. It is so, for cymbals clash, and the Sultan goes by to his palace
in long procession. Ten thousand scimitars flash in the sunlight, and thrice
ten thousand dancing-girls strew flowers. Then, follow white elephants
caparisoned in countless gorgeous colours, and infinite in number and
attendants. Still the Cathedral Tower rises in the background, where it
cannot be, and still no writhing figure is on the grim spike. Stay! Is
the spike so low a thing as the rusty spike on the top of a post of an
old bedstead that has tumbled all awry? Some vague period of drowsy
laughter must be devoted to the consideration of this possibility.
Shaking from head to foot, the man whose scattered consciousness
has thus fantastically pieced itself together, at length rises,
supports his trembling frame upon his arms, and looks around.
He is in the meanest and closest of small rooms."
Dickens, Charles, Martin Chuzzlewit
"As no lady or gentleman, with any claims to polite breeding, can possibly sympathise with the Chuzzlewit Family without being first assured of the extreme antiquity of the race, it is a great satisfaction to know that it undoubtedly descended in a direct line from Adam and Eve; and was, in the very earliest times, closely connected with the agricultural interest. If it should ever be urged by grudging and malicious persons, that a Chuzzlewit, in any period of the family history, displayed an overweening amount of family pride, surely the weakness will be considered not only pardonable but laudable, when the immense superiority of the house to the rest of mankind, in respect of this its ancient origin, is taken into account."
Dickens, Charles Nicholas Nickleby
"There once lived, in a sequestered part of the county of Devonshire, one Mr. Godfrey Nickleby; a worthy gentleman, who, taking it into his head rather late in life that he must get married, and not being young enough or rich enough to aspire to the hand of a lady of fortune, had wedded an old flame out of mere attachment, who in her turn had taken him for the same reason. Thus two people who cannot afford to play cards for money, sometimes sit down to a quiet game for love."
Dickens, Charles, Oliver Twist
"Among other public buildings in a certain town which for many reasons it will be prudent to refrain from mentioning, and to which I will assign no fictitious name, it boasts of one which is common to most towns, great or small, to wit, a workhouse; and in this workhouse was born, on a day and date which I need not take upon myself to repeat, inasmuch as it can be of no possible consequence to the reader, in this stage of the business at all events, the item of mortality whose name is prefixed to the head of this chapter."