all children,except one,grow up.
it was a bright cold day in april, and the clocks were striking thirteen.
it was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of light, it was the season of darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair.
we had everything before us, we had nothing before us, we were all going direct to heaven, we were all going direct the other way.
they say when trouble comes close ranks, and so the white people did.
the sunshine, having no alternative, on the nothing new.
it was aqueer, sultry summer, the summer they electrocuted the rosenberg,and i didn't know what i was doing in new york.
i am a camera with its shutter open, quite passive, recording, not thinking.
in my younger and more vulnerable years my father gave me some advice that i've been turning over in my mind ever since."whenever you feel like criticizing any more"he told me,"just remember that all the people in the world haven't had the advantages that you've had."
for a long time i used to go to bed early. sometimes, when i had put out my candle, my eyes would close so quickly that i had not even time to say "i'm going to sleep." and half an hour later the thought that it was time to go to sleep would awaken me.
it was the day my grandmother exploded.
all happy families are happy alike, all unhappy families are unhappy in their own way.
it is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possessing of a good fortune must be in want of a wife.
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 of tap, at three, on the teeth. lo. lee. ta.
if you really want to hear about it, the first thing you'll probably want to know is where i was born and what my lousy childhood was like, and how my parents were occupied and all before they had me, and all that david copperfield kind of crap, but i don't feel like going into it, if you want to know the truth.
you don't know about me without you have read a book by the name of "the adventures of tom sawyer", but that ain't no matter. that book was made by mr. mark twain, and he told the truth, mainly.
the past is a foreign country: they do things differently there.
as gregor samsa awoke one morning from uneasy dreams he found himself transformed in his bed into a gigantic insect.
it was love at first sight. the first time yossarian saw the chaplain she fell madly in love with him.
miss brooke had that kind of beauty which seems to be thrown into relief by poor dress.
under certain circumstance there are few hours in life more agreeable than the hour dedicated to the ceremony known as afternoon tea.
mother died today. or maybe, yesterday; i can't be sure.
they're out there. black boys in white suits up before me to commit sex acts in the hall and get it manned up before i can catch them.
there was no possibility of taking a walk that day.
elmer gantry was drunk. he was eloquently drunk, lovingly and pugnaciously drunk.
a green hunting cap squeezed the top of a fleshy balloon of a head.
the cold passed reluctantly from the earth, and the retiring fogs revealed an army stretched out on the hills, resting.
the schoolmaster was leaving the village, and everybody seemed sorry.
he was an old man who fished alone in a skiff in the gulf stream and he had gone 84 days now without taking a fish.
all this happened, more or less.
it was inevitable：the scent of bitter almonds always reminded him of the fate of unrequited love.