“What was left of my mind was only dimly aware that I’d become the antithesis of all the greatness my younger self had vowed to achieve.”
“I wish I’d brought something to drink”.
(But it’s scheduled for possible revision, if I can ever be arsed.)
I have a soft spot for “English Harbour stank.”, too. 
Not all of these are ONE SENTENCE.
Mine is, but really shouldn’t be. I just respect the rules. Sort of.
Mine will be something along the lines of–
It is possible to tell how your day will go, if you just take note of your first thought after waking up.
(I want to try and work this into whatever story I end up writing. Now I just need to write one)
“For bullying me all these years, she truly deserves to die.”
Of all the trappings of Earth Rook recreated here in his den, gravity was his favorite.
This was the one that made me most want to keep reading.
Mine:
Phaidra didn’t realize someone was in the room until a hand clamped over her mouth.
He cried as the police closed in, as the smashed cars burned around him, as the laughter in his head grew and grew.
I have one first sentence that I use for just about everything:
“Our story begins here.”
And one last sentence: “And then everyone turned purple and died.”
Saves me from having first line/last line anxiety on first draft.
Any flexibility on the colors there? I can see the suspense building if they don’t know if the people will be purple or not. 
I’m just kidding with you-you all have very good sentences!
It all began when Jonathan went to take out the
garbage…which just goes to show, chores are not only
bothersome—they can get you into trouble, too.
Opening sentence to “The Tall One” by your’s truly.
This was the opening sentence of my entry for National Novel Writers’ Month last year …
Luke Skywalker once said that the planet Tatooine was the furthest one could get from the bright center of the universe–Luke had obviously never taken Interstate 84 through Connecticut.
“At that moment, Commander Tsala decided she liked the smell of burnt flesh.”
Technically, though, that’s a short story, and I’ve already written it.
A few weeks after the invention of the Multinet, Bear Schwartzsfend was a household name.
(Frankly, people are more likely to be hooked by the title of the first chapter: “How to Lose Friends and Irritate People”.)
To begin with, it’s not much fun being dead.
A proper ghost story begins with a death.
A few that I’ve used from unfinished projects I’ve abandoned:
“Say what you will about the Nazis, they damned sure appreciated Marty Robbins’ songs and unlike the Reformation you could buy cigarettes, but I’ll never forgive myself for taking pride in making Hitler and Göring laugh.” (from Fireshadow Book I: Bloody Mary is the Girl I Love, a novel about an inept accidental time traveler who supports himself by “composing” and singing American country-western music in 1930s Berlin, Beatle’s songs in 1530s England, marries Bloody Mary and in spite of having flunked every math course he ever took becoming a god of mathematicians in ancient Mesopotamia.)
“By best calculations we have travelled 323 years, 2 months and 8 days since ten-forty-five this morning.” (Alternate beginning.)
“Wilbur and Gayleen Storch died in a traffic accident yesterday morning so I’m fixing them a casserole.” (from a southern novel tentatively entitled The First Time I Danced With Big MeeMaw)
“The weirdest thing about being gay that straight couples just don’t have is when you and your boyfriend both have the same ex.” (an autobiographical short story entitled The Parking Lot Pieta).
(the next is cheating as it’s more than one sentence, but they’re needed for context)
“You want to know the future?” the pissed off god said to Osceola . “Here it is- see what I see- from this swamp, on these hills, when five generations have passed, a castle will rise, a great and towering home for a princess who never lived of a kingdom that never was. In that valley, though it is nine days walk from the coast, a whale will jump six times a day. One thousand times more people than are in this land today will visit here every year, they will come to see a mouse, a mouse who is nine feet high and who dresses like a white man and who does not talk in person, but whose voice they all have heard and whose movement they have all seen in their own homes, many times, in boxes that they build their home around, and yet they do not believe he is a god. They will wear his ears on their head, and in their ears they will listen to music sung by men who are dead, and with their mouths they will talk to people who are a year’s walk away, and hear them perfectly, and yet those next to them will not think them mad. They will come here in the middle of a flying bird of iron, and they will sleep in beds that are higher than where that bird is flying, and yet they are but men, and at night there will be great explosions in the sky, and yet they will not be afraid. This is the future.” And Osceola saw all that the god saw, and then the god was gone.
Thirty minutes later the message had spread, by runner and by drum and by yell, but always the same. “From Osceola the Leader, be it known to all… There’s some bad black drink going around. It’s not poison, it’s just manufactured wrong.” (From an absurdist novel on the history of the south.)
yeah I liked the one about the squirrel brains and the Jehovah’s Witnesses…
mine:
and she’s dead, and he’s dead, and now I’m dead, and god this just isn’t going to work now is it?