This story began, as all writing must, in failure.
Stately, plump Buck Mulligan came from the stairhead, bearing a bowl of lather on which a mirror and a razor lay crossed.
Where shall we three meet again in thunder, lightning, or in rain? When the hurlyburly 's done, when the battle 's lost and won
Who is John Galt?
It was a bright cold day in April, and the clocks were striking thirteen.
They murdered him.
The first time Caesar approached Cora about running north, she said no.
Look, I didn't want to be a half-blood.
A green hunting cap squeezed the top of the fleshy balloon of a head.
It was the best of times, it was the worst of times.
You think you know how this story is going to end, but you don't.