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

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3 months, 2 weeks ago

to believe she alone had a chambered self

“That might just be the shadows.” Nick gestured at the branches overhead; she obligingly studied the web of oak and moss she saw every day. He sat at the pool’s edge, disturbing its surface with small kicks, and stared downward. She felt like an intruder. Only since her father left had she realized…

—p.98 The Paris Review, Issue 243, Spring 2023 Sanctuary (89) missing author
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3 months, 2 weeks ago

at what point did children cease to be small gods?

Nick lifted both hands as if he were going to bless her. Instead, he picked up the mango. He bit just to the side of the mouth shape she’d made in the flesh, once, and once more. Once, he’d cradled newborns who squalled at the fresh bright world—at what point did children cease to be small gods? Wh…

—p.97 Sanctuary (89) missing author
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3 months, 2 weeks ago

becoming something someone “used to” do

“Oh, conversion, being born again. For me it was the first time I felt like I could really, truly see since I stopped writing. I used to be a poet, you know. It helped me think.” Sorrow pricked Natalia at the idea of writing—which she intended to do, though hadn’t yet—becoming something someone “us…

—p.95 Sanctuary (89) missing author
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3 months, 2 weeks ago

there’s so much that isn’t character-building

“They are, aren’t they?” Sylvia sighed. “I think it’s good that they’re getting the Christian message through entertainment. Did you listen to the Donut Man when you were younger? Kathryn from women’s group recommended it. There’s so much programming for kids that, if you really think about it, doe…

—p.90 Sanctuary (89) missing author
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3 months, 2 weeks ago

they pay two dollars a word

No, mostly because I have no idea how to do that. And I’m not a very money-minded person—I didn’t know how to manage my finances at all when I started. At some point in the nineties Mike Tyson went bankrupt and all these assholes were screaming about what a profligate moron he was, and I remember t…

—p.65 The Art of Fiction No. 257 (34) by Mary Gaitskill