The Wasp Factory

Iain Banks

I had been making the rounds of the Sacrifice Poles the day we heard my brother had escaped.

The Story of Tracy Beaker

Jacqueline Wilson

Sister Carrie

Theodore Dreiser

When Caroline Meeber boarded the afternoon train for Chicago, her total outfit consisted of a small trunk, a cheap imitation alligator-skin satchel, a small lunch in a paper box, and a yellow leather snap purse, containing her ticket, a scrap of paper with her sister's address in Van Buren Street, and four dollars in money.

I Capture the Castle

Dodie Smith

I write this sitting in the kitchen sink.

Molloy; Malone Dies; The Unnamable

Samuel Beckett

I am in my mother's room.

Centennial

James A. Michener

Only another writer, someone who had worked his heart out on a good book which sold three thousand copies, could appreciate the thrill that overcame me one April morning in 1973 when Dean Rivers of our small college in Georgia appeared at my classroom door.

Fathers and Sons

Ivan Turgenev

"Well, Piotr, not in sight yet?" was the question asked on May the 20th, 1859, by a gentleman of a little over forty, in a dusty coat and checked trousers, who came out without his hat on to the low steps of the posting station at S-.

The Shell Seekers

Rosamunde Pilcher

She sometimes thought that for her, Nancy Chamberlain, the most straightforward or innocent occupation was doomed to become, inevitably, fraught with tedious complication.

Jazz

Toni Morrison

Sth, I know that woman.

Ironweed

William J. Kennedy

Riding up the winding road of Saint Agnes Cemetery in the back of the rattling old truck, Francis Phelan became aware that the dead, even more than the living, settled down in neighborhoods.