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).

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8 months, 3 weeks ago

had enclosed her in a sort of glass container

That was it, she had nothing else to do. I soon realized that, being married, she was more alone than before. I sometimes went out with Carmela, with Ada, even with Gigliola, and at school I had made friends with girls in my class and other classes, so that sometimes I met them for ice cream on Via…

—p.57 The Story of a New Name (The Neapolitan Novels, #2) by Elena Ferrante
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8 months, 3 weeks ago

Lila instead displayed an acquiescence without respect

I listened, I understood and I didn’t understand. Long ago she had threatened Marcello with the shoemaker’s knife simply because he had dared to grab my wrist and break the bracelet. From that point on, I was sure that if Marcello had just brushed against her she would have killed him. But toward S…

—p.52 by Elena Ferrante
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8 months, 3 weeks ago

she had needed a good thrashing for a long time

To her friends and relatives she said that she had fallen on the rocks in Amalfi on a beautiful sunny morning, when she and her husband had taken a boat to a beach just at the foot of a yellow wall. During the engagement lunch for her brother and Pinuccia she had used, in telling that lie, a sarcas…

—p.45 by Elena Ferrante
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8 months, 3 weeks ago

Lila was absent

[...] He now had his hands free and leaning over her he slapped her lightly with the tips of his fingers and kept telling her, pressing her: see how big it is, eh, say yes, say yes, say yes, until he took out of his pajamas his stubby sex that, extended over her, seemed like a puppet without arms o…

—p.42 by Elena Ferrante
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8 months, 3 weeks ago

the stranger who waited for her outside

Lila didn’t doubt that he would have been capable of it—the stranger who waited for her outside was capable of anything. I, too, she thought, am capable of anything. She undressed, she washed, she put on the nightgown, despising herself for the care with which she had chosen it months earlier. Stef…

—p.39 by Elena Ferrante