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).

19

The secret of being happy consists of knowing how to enjoy yourself -- enjoy being at table, in bed, enjoy standing up, sitting down, enjoy the nearest ray of sunshine, the slightest bit of landscape: in other words, love everything. Thus it follows that to be happy you must already be so -- there's no bread without leavening.

—p.19 Intimate Notebook 1840-1841 (13) by Gustave Flaubert 12 hours, 28 minutes ago

The secret of being happy consists of knowing how to enjoy yourself -- enjoy being at table, in bed, enjoy standing up, sitting down, enjoy the nearest ray of sunshine, the slightest bit of landscape: in other words, love everything. Thus it follows that to be happy you must already be so -- there's no bread without leavening.

—p.19 Intimate Notebook 1840-1841 (13) by Gustave Flaubert 12 hours, 28 minutes ago
25

When you write, you feel how it must be, you know that at such a spot a certain thing is needed, at another spot something else; you compose pictures for yourself that you see, you have rather the feeling that you are going to bring something to flower; you feel it in your heart like the distant echo of all the passions you are going to create; and the inability to render all that is the eternal despair of those who write; the poverty of languages, which have scarcely one word for a hundred thoughts; the weakness of man, who cannot find approximations -- and to me it is an eternal anguish.

Oh my God, my God, why did you cause me to be born with so much ambition? [...]

—p.25 Intimate Notebook 1840-1841 (13) by Gustave Flaubert 12 hours, 25 minutes ago

When you write, you feel how it must be, you know that at such a spot a certain thing is needed, at another spot something else; you compose pictures for yourself that you see, you have rather the feeling that you are going to bring something to flower; you feel it in your heart like the distant echo of all the passions you are going to create; and the inability to render all that is the eternal despair of those who write; the poverty of languages, which have scarcely one word for a hundred thoughts; the weakness of man, who cannot find approximations -- and to me it is an eternal anguish.

Oh my God, my God, why did you cause me to be born with so much ambition? [...]

—p.25 Intimate Notebook 1840-1841 (13) by Gustave Flaubert 12 hours, 25 minutes ago