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

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3 years, 8 months ago

a child never wants only what it’s asking for

[...] . I thought how one opaque action generates others of increasingly pronounced opacity, and so the problem is to break the chain. Elena would be happy to have her doll again, I said to myself. Or no, a child never wants only what it’s asking for, in fact a satisfied demand makes even more unbe…

—p.128 The Lost Daughter by Elena Ferrante
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3 years, 8 months ago

treacherously taken for herself all my energy

I was already unhappy, but I didn’t know it. It seemed to me that little Bianca, right after her beautiful birth, had suddenly changed and treacherously taken for herself all my energy, all my strength, all my capacity for imagination. It seemed to me that my husband, too caught up in his fury of a…

—p.123 by Elena Ferrante
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3 years, 8 months ago

a slender branch of one’s life to hang on to

“Today they have everything, people go into debt to buy stupid things. My wife didn’t waste a cent, the women of today throw money out the window.”

Even that way of complaining about the present and the recent past, and idealizing the distant past, didn’t annoy me as it usually does. It seemed, …

—p.108 by Elena Ferrante
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3 years, 8 months ago

a fragile arrogance, a frightened audacity

I looked at him ironically as with expert motions he removed the guts of that lifeless creature and then scraped away scales as if to take from them their sheen, their color. I thought that probably his friends were waiting at the bar to find out if his undertaking had been successful. I thought th…

—p.104 by Elena Ferrante
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3 years, 8 months ago

I was running after my own desires

On that occasion I bought dresses for Bianca and Marta, and brought them as a gift. Small and tender, they wanted help in putting them on. My husband took me aside gently, asked me to try again, began to cry, said he loved me. I said no. We quarreled, and I shut myself in the kitchen. After a while…

—p.102 by Elena Ferrante