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).

208

Don’t dare. Don’t want to. But, anyway, I don’t write because there’s an audience. I write because there is literature.

whether she thinks about her audience

—p.208 The Art of Fiction No. 143 (176) by Susan Sontag 9 months, 3 weeks ago

Don’t dare. Don’t want to. But, anyway, I don’t write because there’s an audience. I write because there is literature.

whether she thinks about her audience

—p.208 The Art of Fiction No. 143 (176) by Susan Sontag 9 months, 3 weeks ago
228

De Iuventute

When I was a young man
chasing girls I was so
hot to get into them I
never had time to learn
to savor the pleasures
of it. Fuss and rush
was all it was. And on
to the next.

Now that I'm old and
girls will have none
of me I must try to
imagine what it would
have been like with
each of them if I
had taken some pains
to learn to please them.

—p.228 Two Poems (227) missing author 9 months, 3 weeks ago

De Iuventute

When I was a young man
chasing girls I was so
hot to get into them I
never had time to learn
to savor the pleasures
of it. Fuss and rush
was all it was. And on
to the next.

Now that I'm old and
girls will have none
of me I must try to
imagine what it would
have been like with
each of them if I
had taken some pains
to learn to please them.

—p.228 Two Poems (227) missing author 9 months, 3 weeks ago
251

Prince understands. He is the only one who understands me.

Then one day I come in from the porch. It’s starting to get dark so early, now that it’s winter. I come into the living room and it’s all in shadow. I can’t see anyone’s face clearly, all I see are their teeth shining.

It is so quiet. Then I hear their breathing, each one of them separately like singers not in harmony. They are all waiting for something.

“I wish I had a steak,” says Eliott, his voice strained and high.

A pause.

“In Africa they eat grubs and things. Maybe there are worms in the backyard,” says Pat.

“You can eat dandelion greens. I’ve heard of a dandelion salad,” says Eliott.

Pat says, “I heard in Korea people eat dogs.”

No one says anything. I can see the room get darker.

Then my dad stands up.

“What are you doing?” my mother says. He doesn’t answer.

“Where are you going? Howard—don’t —don’t—”

My dad is reaching for his gun. My brothers stand up.

“What are you doing? How can you even think of—”

They are walking slowly to the door.

“He’s a man, Howard! A man! You can’t—” my mother screams.

“He’s a dog,” says my dad. “He’s an animal.”

And then I see the door swing open, see Prince lift his head expectantly. I see my dad lift the gun and aim. I’m trying to get over there, I can’t get there fast enough, the air is too thick.

—p.251 Dog Days (240) missing author 9 months, 3 weeks ago

Prince understands. He is the only one who understands me.

Then one day I come in from the porch. It’s starting to get dark so early, now that it’s winter. I come into the living room and it’s all in shadow. I can’t see anyone’s face clearly, all I see are their teeth shining.

It is so quiet. Then I hear their breathing, each one of them separately like singers not in harmony. They are all waiting for something.

“I wish I had a steak,” says Eliott, his voice strained and high.

A pause.

“In Africa they eat grubs and things. Maybe there are worms in the backyard,” says Pat.

“You can eat dandelion greens. I’ve heard of a dandelion salad,” says Eliott.

Pat says, “I heard in Korea people eat dogs.”

No one says anything. I can see the room get darker.

Then my dad stands up.

“What are you doing?” my mother says. He doesn’t answer.

“Where are you going? Howard—don’t —don’t—”

My dad is reaching for his gun. My brothers stand up.

“What are you doing? How can you even think of—”

They are walking slowly to the door.

“He’s a man, Howard! A man! You can’t—” my mother screams.

“He’s a dog,” says my dad. “He’s an animal.”

And then I see the door swing open, see Prince lift his head expectantly. I see my dad lift the gun and aim. I’m trying to get over there, I can’t get there fast enough, the air is too thick.

—p.251 Dog Days (240) missing author 9 months, 3 weeks ago
275

Sometimes I am so lonely the phone
will do.
Sometimes I am so lonely and you are not
dead, you
live in Brooklyn Heights yet I cannot
touch you.
I have spent 30 years trying not to write
this poem.
Sometimes I am so lonely the phone
will do.

excerpt from the poem Phone Sex

—p.275 Three Poems (274) missing author 9 months, 3 weeks ago

Sometimes I am so lonely the phone
will do.
Sometimes I am so lonely and you are not
dead, you
live in Brooklyn Heights yet I cannot
touch you.
I have spent 30 years trying not to write
this poem.
Sometimes I am so lonely the phone
will do.

excerpt from the poem Phone Sex

—p.275 Three Poems (274) missing author 9 months, 3 weeks ago