Once there were four children whose names were Peter, Susan, Edmund and Lucy.
Mr. and Mrs. Dursley, of Number Four, Privet Drive, were proud to say that they were
perfectly normal, thank you very much.
In the week before their departure to Arrakis, when all the final scurrying about had
reached a nearly unbearable frenzy, an old crone came to visit the mother of the boy,
No one would have believed in the last years of the nineteenth century that this world
was being watched keenly and closely by intelligences greater than man's and yet as mortal
as his own; that as men busied themselves about their various concerns they were
scrutinised and studied, perhaps almost as narrowly as a man with a microscope might
scrutinise the transient creatures that swarm and multiply in a drop of water
If you want to find Cherry Tree Lane all you have to do is ask a policeman at the
The great fish moved silently through the night water, propelled by short sweeps of its
The drought had lasted now for ten million years, and the reign of the terrible lizards
had long since ended.
The Mole had been working very hard all the morning, spring-cleaning his little home.
Most motorcars are conglomerations (this is a long word for bundles) of steel and wire
and rubber and plastic, and electricity and oil and gasoline and water, and the toffee
papers you pushed down the crack in the back seat last Sunday.
It was seven o'clock of a very warm evening in the Seeonee hills when Father Wolf woke
up from his day's rest, scratched himself, yawned, and spread out his paws one after the
other to get rid of the sleepy feeling in their tips.
It is a curious thing that at my age, fifty-five last birthday, I should find myself
taking up a pen to try and write a history.
"Christmas won't be Christmas without any presents," grumbled Jo, lying on the
These two very old people are the father and mother of Mr. Bucket.
A squat grey building of only thirty-four stories. Over the main entrance the words,
CENTRAL LONDON HATCHERY AND CONDITIONING CENTRE, and in a shield, the World State's motto,
Community, Identity, Stability.
It was a bright cold day in April, and the clocks were striking thirteen.
Marley was dead, to begin with. There is no doubt whatever about that.
James Bond, with two double bourbons inside him, sat back in the final departure lounge
of Miami Airport and thought about life and death.
Early in the spring of 1750, in the village of Juffure, four days upriver from the coast
of Gambia, West Africa, a manchild was born to Omoro and Binta Kinte.
I was leaning against a bar in a speak-easy on Fifty-second Street, waiting for Nora to
finish her Christmas shopping, when a girl got up from the table where she had been
sitting with three other people and came over to me.
Mr. Sherlock Holmes, who was usually very late in the mornings, save upon those not
infrequent occasions when he was up all night, was seated at the breakfast table