Welcome to Bookmarker!

This is a personal project by @dellsystem. I built this to help me retain information from the books I'm reading.

Source code on GitHub (MIT license).

Activity

You added a note
5 years, 10 months ago

something that can be turned over to the reader why/write

The summer evenings of my boyhood when I used to ride by her cottage speak to me in that voice of hers now. On a road among fields, where it met the desolate highway, I would dismount and prop my bicycle against a telegraph pole. A sunset, almost formidable in its splendor, would be lingering in th…

—p.212 Speak, Memory (An Autobiography Revisited) by Vladimir Nabokov
You added a note
5 years, 10 months ago

this question is not in the book, sir inspo/characterisation

Considering how versatile Lenski appeared to be, how thoroughly he could explain anything related to our school studies, his constant tribulations at the university came as something of a surprise. Their cause, it transpired eventually, was his complete lack of aptitude for the financial and politi…

—p.167 by Vladimir Nabokov
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5 years, 10 months ago

I confess I do not believe in time advice/living inspo/setting

After making my way through some pine groves and alder scrub I came to the bog. No sooner had my ear caught the hum of diptera around me, the guttural cry of a snipe overhead, the gulping sound of the morass under my foot, than I knew I would find here quite special arctic butterflies, whose pictur…

—p.138 by Vladimir Nabokov
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5 years, 10 months ago

the whole of me twitching with shame and self-disgust inspo/interiority

On the morning following his arrival, I did everything I could to get out of the house for my morning hike without his knowing where I had gone. Breakfastless, with hysterical haste, I gathered my net, pill boxes, killing jar, and escaped through the window. Once in the forest, I was safe; but stil…

—p.127 by Vladimir Nabokov
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5 years, 10 months ago

the room would be cleft into light and shade inspo/setting

ON a summer morning, in the legendary Russia of my boyhood, my first glance upon awakening was for the chink between the white inner shutters. If it disclosed a watery pallor, one had better not open them at all, and so be spared the sight of a sullen day sitting for its picture in a puddle. How re…

—p.119 by Vladimir Nabokov