Bookmarker is a personal project by @dellsystem to help with retaining reading material. Source on GitHub.

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2 years, 8 months ago

knew something had happened that moment

She didn’t answer. She was clearly confused. I thought at the time she must have been disoriented by the unfamiliar setting, and put her silence down to a simple case of embarrassment not uncommon with servants. Later I found out it wasn’t the unfamiliar setting or the arrival of the young master t…

—p.136 Portraits of a Marriage by Sándor Márai
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2 years, 8 months ago

just because it is their fate to do so

You’re looking at me very skeptically. I see, you want to ask whether I always had the courage to follow my desires? As regards Judit Áldozó, for instance? Indeed I had, old man. And I proved it. I paid my whack, as they say on the street. It cost me my peace of mind for the rest of my life, and so…

—p.136 by Sándor Márai
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2 years, 8 months ago

it is like breathing pure mountain air

[...] There are times when we regard loneliness as a punishment: we are like children left alone in a dark room while the adults carry on chattering and enjoying themselves next door. But one day we too grow up to be adults and learn that loneliness—genuine, fully conscious solitude—is not a punish…

—p.133 by Sándor Márai
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2 years, 8 months ago

the papers are full of news that means nothing to you

[...] You know how it is: you wake up in the morning like an asthmatic, gasping for air. You put a hand out in the dark seeking another hand. You can’t understand how the other person is no longer there, nearby, in the next house or the next street. You walk down the street but the other person is …

—p.100 by Sándor Márai
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2 years, 8 months ago

when he came home not all of him arrived

I understood that this was the truth and that it was carved in stone. Neither of them was a liar. I began to feel sick with fear, with the shock. I felt generally unwell. There could be nothing worse than the news that they had never spoken since. That they had remained silent for twelve years: tha…

—p.85 by Sándor Márai