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

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2 years, 11 months ago

stripped of his villas on the Côte d’Azur

[...] most actors accept being loved for their celebrity without any problem, and why not? After all it’s part of themselves, of their most authentic personality, or in any case the one they have chosen for themselves. By contrast, men who can accept that they are loved for their money are rare, in…

—p.146 The Possibility of an Island by Michel Houellebecq
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2 years, 11 months ago

capitalism was for her a natural habitat

I ALMOST RENTED ANOTHER CAR to go and fetch Esther from the Almería airport; I was afraid she would get an unfavorable impression from the Mercedes 600 SL coupe, but also from the swimming pool, the Jacuzzis, and more generally the display of luxury that characterized my life. I was mistaken: Esthe…

—p.133 by Michel Houellebecq
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2 years, 11 months ago

slaughtered in France

[...] I knew that the majority of people are born, grow old, and die without having known love. Not long after the epidemic of “mad cow disease,” new measures had been introduced to ensure that people knew where their beef had come from. In the meat section of supermarkets, in fast-food establishme…

—p.120 by Michel Houellebecq
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2 years, 11 months ago

never will it give you back joy

[...] I felt myself worn down, diminished beyond redemption; my mutterings and murmurs were those of an old man. I was now forty-seven, it was thirty years since I had started making my peers laugh; now I was finished, washed out, inert. The spark of curiosity that remained in my vision of the worl…

—p.113 by Michel Houellebecq
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2 years, 11 months ago

revolutionaries and decorators

“There is a famous phrase that divides artists into two categories: revolutionaries and decorators. Well, I didn’t have much of a choice, the world decided for me. I remember my first exhibition in New York, at the Saatchi gallery, for the happening ‘Feed the People. Organize Them.’ I was quite imp…

—p.108 by Michel Houellebecq