Quotes by Erik Pevernagie

Being happy is harder than being discontent. For happiness we have to roll up our sleeves and knock down houses of cards. Because of this exertion, many prefer to abide by ‘fake’ happiness.( Happiness blowing in the wind. )

Some feel lucky, if they havent got to be happy, as they don’t like their frame of mind to be unravelled and prefer to be left well enough alone. ( C’est quand le bonheur ? )

Conversation often becomes mere verbal performance and oral horseplay rather than fair-minded communication. (“Juicy rumours “)

For the discovery of self we have to overcome the fear of self, so as to find the marrow ‘within’ and disclose our ‘true’ self. (Everybody his story)

Life is an intricate play with actors waiting for an explanation. Each added act confers a new interpretation of the story. ( Waiting for the pieces to fall into place )

Some are condemned to remain mere “clock and smart phone watchers”, inasmuch as they are not able to read and interpret the lines of their life or dont even treasure the enchantment of daily captivating moments. If we are not prepared to give some personal time to social time, we walk like blind men through gloomy alleys of our existence. ( Please. Just a bit of a chat )

If the context is lost and merely bits and pieces remain from a scattered existence, only the connection of anchor points may reinstate a distorted mental balance in an upset life story. (Lost the global story. )

In a lifeworld, where we can be what we are, and not what people expect us to be, we can escape a blank and void existence, which is linked to wrecking ennui. Boredom often slips into revulsion and nausea, for not being able to find an identity and not succeeding in acquiring individuality with the quality of authenticity. (Like a frozen image)

Liberty is only possible on the condition of regularity. We cannot be free and play the game of life without abiding to the rules, but the rules have to be adapted constantly in line with our experiences and the events we encounter. ( “If he doesnt play ball “ )

When we allow ourselves to show some patience and take time to listen to the others, we may learn a lot about ourselves. Patience does not endure instant gratification, though, and self-knowledge may take a lifetime. (“I am on my own side, but I can listen “ )

Love is like a musical score, sometimes very tuneful, creating a harmony of sounds, sometimes extremely harsh, striking a hell of false notes. (“Love lying fallow “)

When the bonfire of love still smolders in the wake of emotional convulsions, seeds of regret and remorse may endlessly linger about on the path of life. (Taken for a ride)

Regret and remorse” is a dialectic issue about what has been done, about what should have been done and about what should not have been done. ( “Island of regret. Island of remorse” )

While many find the new clothes of the emperor magnificent, some dare to say out loud, he is simply naked. If the clear sighted are constrained by the credulous and when the “followers” are browbeating the knowers, the cat is among the pigeons and the age of obscuration is under way. Obviously something wicked this way comes… (His masters voice )

Love can crystallize things. When love is in the air, distressing rain can become a wonderful avalanche of shimmering diamonds. Raindrops are transformed into a flood of sparkling crystal pearls. The power of love can convert rain into a multitude of glittering prisms. The mental seduction of love and a boundless illusion, inflamed by a profound uprising emotion, can change any ordinary incident into a radiant, luminous voyage. ( Crystallization under an umbrella )

Love is illiterate. Whether we write it big or small, we cannot read it. We might only guess. ( I seek you )

Postmen have a legendary aura. A ring at the doorbell may inflame a sense of expectation, suspense, secrecy, hazard or even intrigue. Ringing twice may imply a warning that trouble is on the way or an appeal to make the coast clear. Not all mailmen, though, will ring twice and await an eye-catching Lana Turner, whom they can whisper: With my brains and your looks, we could go places.” (The postman always rings twice)

For some, life may be a playground to undermine the brainwaves of others or simply a vainglorious game with an armory of theatrics, illustrating only bleak self-deception, haughty narcissism and dim deficiency in empathy. (Another empty room)

Life can be generous, but leaves us with a trilemma: How can we reconcile three diverse features: ‘I’, me and the others. Since the “I” entails what I want; the “me” what others expect of me and the “others” what others themselves want. The bridges between individuality, “surroundings” and otherness can be abysmal and very often waiting to be restored. (“I am on my own side, but I can listen “ )

Love assumes expectation and hope. All actors of the hazardous pursuit of love eagerly look forward to passing a significant cape without injuries or aching scratches: the Cape of good Hope. ( Those journeys of love )