Another week has gone past and here we are again. Doing First Lines Friday like we always are. We always forget to put this whole thing, but we’re going to do better.
First Lines Fridays is a weekly feature for book lovers hosted by Wandering Words. What if instead of judging a book by its cover, its author or its prestige, we judged it by its opening lines?
- Pick a book off your shelf (it could be your current read or on your TBR) and open to the first page
- Copy the first few lines, but don’t give anything else about the book away just yet – you need to hook the reader first
- Finally… reveal the book!
Caidyn will write in blue.
Chantel will be in purple.
The artist is the creator of beautiful things.
To reveal art and conceal the artist is art’s aim.The critic is he who can translate into another manner or a new material his impression of beautiful things.
The critic is he who can translate into another manner or a new material his impression of beautiful things.
The highest as the lowest form of criticism is a mode of autobiography.
Those who find ugly meanings in beautiful things are corrupt without being charming. This is a fault.
Those who find beautiful meanings in beautiful things are the cultivated. For these there is hope.
They are the elect to whom beautiful things mean only Beauty.
There is no such thing as a moral or an immoral book. Books are well written, or badly written. That is all.
The nineteenth-century dislike of Realism is the rage of Caliban seeing his own face in a glass.
The moral life of man forms part of the subject-matter of the artist, but the morality of art consists in the perfect use of an imperfect medium.
No artist desires to prove anything. Even things that are true can be proved.
No artist has ethical sympathies. An ethical sympathy in an artist is an unpardonable mannerism of style.
No artist is ever morbid. The artist can express everything.
Thought and language are to the artist instruments of an art.
Vice and virtue are to the artist materials for an art.
From the point of view of form, the type of all the arts is the art of musician. From the point of view of feeling, the actor’s craft is the type.
All art is at once surface and symbol.
Those who go beneath the surface do so at their peril.
It is the spectator, and not life, that art really mirrors.
Diversity of opinion about a work of art shows that the work is new, complex, and vital.
When critics disagree the artist is in accord with himself.
We can forgive a man for making a useful thing as long as he does not admire it. the only excuse for making a useless thing is that one admires it intensely.
All art is quite useless.
Y’all can suck it. I am posting the entire preface of my favorite book. I can’t just put some of it and then cut off the author’s diatribe for/against art and an explanation of their personal philosophy that runs throughout their life and works. So, who/what did I choose?
This is absolutely one of my favorite books. While there are a lot of pros and cons to it and things that serve no purpose whatsoever to the story as a whole, I still see it as a favorite that has endured since high school for me. I’ve even read the censored version (which is the one that everyone knows) and the uncensored one that sparked a controversy with having an openly gay character. That sparked Wilde’s preface, calling the publishers who rejected him out on their crap for censoring him. While I think that the censored version is far superior (and that Goodreads needs to get their shit together and stop combining the censored and uncensored versions together as if they’re the same book) there are things I like from it.
Trust me, I could go on and on about the multiple literary angles that you can take on the book. How you can analyze it until the day you die and you’ll never be able to capture everything. But, I’ll stop myself since I subjected you guys to that lengthy opening that has nothing whatsoever to do with the book, yet everything to do with its creation.
This is the Aurelia Theater.
Zara’s body curls around the open stage door. Her feet are a rushed whisper. She would die before she would disturb the auditions that are, according to a sign, already IN PROGRESS.
Backstage is black and empty. Not so much a world as the darkness before the world begins. Ten stories of fly space yawn above Zara’s head, ready to swallow scenery — a tangle of woods, the twisted spine of a mountain range.
This is a book that just came out recently. I could’ve continued on, but since this just came out on the 10th of this month, I won’t. No, this isn’t because I’m being lazy.
Yes, it is.
Well, let’s just get on with it then. I chose…
I picked this book because it’s a new release and I’ve just barely started it. I feel like this is a book for me. It features theatre and queer ladies. I’m all about that. I did theatre in high school and it made high school far more enjoyable, honestly. I may not have gotten the best roles, but I had some great memories that I won’t forget. I got to experience things I might not have without theatre. I look forward to continuing on, don’t know when I’ll get to it since I’m in the middle of three books right now. Plus I have to read Shakespeare. Oy. I will get to it.