The first lines that grab you by the collar, drawn from thousands of vintage SF stories. Read one you like; the whole story is free.
"I'm only here to help you," said the man from Mars.
"Call me Zeus," said the Director.
Every lonely man tries to make friends. Manet just didn't know when to stop!
"Get away from me!" screamed Dr. Berry at the approaching figure.
I had always said there was an easier way. And I think, when we invade, I'll be proved right.
Sunset. _They're coming for me, tonight_, he knew as he woke.
It was midnight when the night superintendent called and told me No. 27 had died.
Why me? Why, out of 300 billion people on earth, why did they have to pick on _me_?
It began with the dead cat on the fire escape and ended with the green monster in the incinerator chute, but still, it wouldn't be quite fair to blame it all on the neighborhood....
Artie said monotonously, "There is someone at the door sir shall I answer? There is someone at the door sir shall I--"
I am writing this because I presume He wants me to. Otherwise He would not have left paper and pencil handy for me to use.
Gordy survived the Three-Hour War, even though Detroit didn't; he was on his way to Washington, with his blueprints and models in his bag, when the bombs struck.
Death came out of a box and stalked through the streets of Chicago.
Seven days stranded on Europa. Seven days without hope.
How am I supposed to rate his loneliness for you? In Megasorrows or Kilofears?
The man I searched for could be anybody at all. If I didn't find him, there'd be nobody at all.
"I'm getting old," Sam Chipfellow said, "and old men die."
Everyone knows the Moon is dead. Everyone is quite correct--now!
If it was happening to him, all right, he could take that ... but what if he was happening to it?
It didn't matter that he had quit. He was still one of the guilty.
The most dangerous is not the outlawed murderer, who only slays men, but the rebellious philosopher: for he destroys worlds.
He came out of the earth, hating. Hate was his father; hate was his mother.
The bed woke them. "Time to get up, dears," it cooed.
Sure, Larry Connaught saved my life--but it was how he did it that forced me to murder him!
The pounding at the door woke me up. I groped for the light.
The telephone wouldn't stop ringing. Over and over it buzzed into my sleep-fogged brain, and I couldn't shut it out.
The boy was twelve, and running for dear life.
"Hold it, buddy," this fellow said, coming along the bar toward me. "I want to talk to you."
We, Sam Lewis thought as he lay in the dark trying to sober up, are the living dead.
"Good morning, madam," Ira said.