My darling, loyal, inspiring and appreciative followers – thank you! Thank you for your comments, feedback, support and encouragement. Thank you for reading and sharing. Thank you for caring. Thank you for keeping this blog alive enough and growing at a rate whereby it’s seen its first new year. Thank you.
Now for an apology (!): my time management skills went out the window with all that Christmas wrapping and, alas, my book review for this month will have to be a 3rd of the month, or 4th of the month book review / bargain depending on how the next few days pan out – I’m sincerely sorry (it’ll be a good one when it arrives… I promise!).
image by OnFoot4Now (Didi)
Now for the new year stuff – bookish style. In the spirit of this blog and my fetish for all things wordy I thought I’d share with you the opening lines from some of my favourite books; just because every time I open a book to its first page a new year / era / world seems to always possess me. So, on that note, enjoy and may 2012 be a year filled with good company, good food and, above all, good books.
Hope you’re inspired to read a few from below…
“Alice was beginning to get very tired of sitting by her sister on the bank, and of having nothing to do: once or twice she had peeped into the book her sister was reading, but it had no pictures or conversations in it, `and what is the use of a book,’ thought Alice `without pictures or conversation?'”
Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland, Lewis Carroll
“It is a truth universally acknowledged that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife.”
Pride and Prejudice, Jane Austen
“Where’s Papa going with that ax?”
Charlotte’s Web, E.B. White
“The Madness of an autumn prairie cold front coming through.”
The Corrections, Jonathan Franzen
“Early in 1880, in spite of a well-founded suspicion as to the advisability of perpetuating that race which has the sanction of the Lord and the disapproval of the people, Hedvig Volkbein, a Viennese woman of great strength and military beauty, lying upon a canopied bed of a rich spectacular crimson, the valance stamped with the bifurcated wings of the House of Hapsburg, the feather coverlet an envelope of satin in which, in massive and tarnished gold threads, stood the Volkbein arms — gave birth, at the age of forty-five, to an only child, a son, seven days after her physician predicted that she would be taken.”
Nightwood, Djuna Barnes