So I've been fascinated by the first-line-of-ten-books meme, because I'm seeing so little overlap in lists. And I feel kind of stunned stupid by the sheer literariness of the selected titles--it totally tears down and stomps on the remains of any fannish stereotype--you know, the fan who only reads fan-fiction. Except for me. I'm pretty much left alone in that stereotype now, filing my nails and staring at the empty chairs.
I mean, I read. Now and then. But not like other people are reading. It appears I may have lost my adventurousness. Where'd it go, damn it?
I only have nine. Decided not to strain myself by selecting an unnatural tenth. These are mostly first sentences, some paragraphs.
1.  The final organization of The Book of Disquiet should be based on a most rigid selection of the passages that exist in various forms, adapting the oldest, which do not contain Bernardo Soares's psychology, as that true psychology is now pouring out. --The Book of Disquiet by Fernando Pessoa
2. It was bad enough going 0-for-5 and committing a dumb-ass error that led to two unearned runs in the bottom of the ninth that beat you. --The Dreyfus Affair by Peter Lefcourt
3. I saw her entrance. It would have been hard to miss. She had blonde hair that was close to white, the sort that's called towhead when it belongs to a child. Hers was plaited in heavy braids that she'd wrapped around her head and secured with pins. She had a high smooth forehead and prominent cheekbones and a mouth that was just a little too wide. In her western-style boots she must have run to six feet, most of her length in her legs. She was wearing designer jeans the color of burgundy and a short fur jacket the color of champagne. It had been raining on and off all day, and she wasn't carrying an umbrella or wearing anything on her head. Beads of water glinted like diamonds on her plaited hair. --Eight Million Ways to Die by Lawrence Block
4. The town of Lake Wobegon, Minnesota*, lies on the shore against Adams Hill, looking east across the blue-green water to the dark woods. --Lake Wobegon Days by Garrison Keillor
5. The station wagons arrived at noon, a long shining line that coursed through the west campus. In single file they eased around the orange I-beam sculpture and moved toward the dormitories. The roofs of the station wagons were loaded down with carefully secured suitcases full of light and heavy clothing; with boxes of blankets, boots and shoes, stationery and books, sheets, pillows, quilts; with rolled-up rugs and sleeping bags; with bicycles, skis, rucksacks, English and Western saddles, inflated rafts. As cars slowed to a crawl and stopped, students sprang out and raced to the rear doors to begin removing the objects inside; the stereo sets, radios, personal computers; small refrigerators and table ranges; the cartons of phonograph records and cassettes; the hairdryers and styling irons; the tennis rackets, soccer balls, hockey and lacrosse sticks, bows and arrows; the controlled substances, the birth control pills and devices; the junk food still in shopping bags--onion-and-garlic chips, nacho thins, peanut creme patties, Waffelos and Kabooms, fruit chews and toffee popcorn; the Dum-Dum pops, the Mystic mints. --White Noise by Don DeLillo
6. Lolita, light of my life, fire of my loins. My sin, my soul. Lo-lee-ta: the tip of the tongue taking a trip of three steps down the palate to tap, at three, on the teeth. Lo. Lee. Ta. --Lolita by Vladimir Nabokov
7. I met Maria during my next-to-last year in prep school. --The Beautiful Room is Empty by Edmund White
8. The fact is I had just been sacked from my paper, some frantic piffle about shouting insults from the stalls at a first night. --The Hippopotamus by Stephen Fry
9. The snow in the mountains was melting and Bunny had been dead for several weeks before we came to understand the gravity of our situation. --The Secret History by Donna Tartt
Man. I really know how to waste time.