On the day that Inni Wintrop commited suicide, Philips shares stood at 149.60. The Amsterdam Bank closing rate was 375, and Shipping Union had slipped to 141.50. Memory is like a dog that lies down where it pleases. And that was what he remembered, if he remembered anything: the market reports and that the moon shone on the canal and that he had hanged himself in the bathroom because he had predicted, in his own horoscope in Het Parool, that his wife would run off with another man and that he, a Leo, would then commit suicide. It was a perfect prediction. Zita ran off with an Italian, and Inni committed suicide. He had read a poem by Bloem too, but he could not remember which one. The dog, arrogant beast, let him down on this point.

the opening paragraph of Cees Nooteboom's Rituelen, and quite possibly one of my favourite opening paragraphs of all time. the last line never fails to make me laugh aloud.