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Quote by Erik Pevernagie

“Writing letters may be an outdated way of communication for many, but they still have value. When letters are no longer objects in downtime but subjects in motion, they become vessels of meaning and carry fragments of the writer’s drive and emotional energy. ("Letter to unknown recipient “)”

Quote by Erik Pevernagie

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Erik Pevernagie

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“And all the time it's raining outside and doesn't look as though it will ever stop. Doesn't worry me at all, I'm under cover and am only embarrassed to eat my opulent Gabelfrühstük in front of the house painter who at the moment is standing on the scaffolding before my windows and who, furious about the rain which has temporarily stopped and about the amount of butter I'm putting on my bread, is splashing the windows unnecessarily (which is probably also only my imagination, since he is no doubt 100 times less preoccupied with me than I with him). No, now he is really working in pouring rain and thunder.”

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“Do you know, by the way, that you were given to me as a present for my Confirmation (there's something like a Jewish Confirmation)? I was born in '83, so I was 13 when you were born. The 13th birthday is a special occasion. Up near the altar in the temple I had to recite a piece learned by heart with great difficulty, then at home I had to make a brief speech (also learned by heart). I also received many presents. But I imagine that I was not entirely satisfied, one particular present I missed, I demanded it from heaven; it hesitated until 10 August.”

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“Icarus made wings out of wax to escape a prison. But when he was outside for the first time in years there was the sun hanging up in the sky above him and he thought it was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. He flew closer and closer and his wings started to melt, but he didn’t give a good goddamn. He kept flying up until he couldn’t fly anymore, and his eyes were probably burning, and his skin was probably burning, but still he didn’t care. And then his wings melted all the way and he fell miles and miles into the ocean and brained himself on a rock, that poor stupid asshole. And I’ll tell you what: I’m no better. I’m no fucking better.”

LettersWw2Stucky
Book:The Thirteen Letters
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“Dietro, un villaggio scuro, capanne interamente ricoperte di zolle erbose: sono i primi lapponi che abbiamo incontrati; sono sedentari, ma la loro è una miseria terribile: quanti bambini, tutti rachitici e timidi come leprotti. Quelle capanne hanno uno scheletro di assi sul quale si cominciano ad ammucchiare le zolle, rinforzando il tutto con pietre e paletti. Ci infilano un tubo di lamiera, ed è fatta: dentro ci abita almeno una dozzina di persone. Di cosa vivano non so, ma non mendicano, né rubano; sono biondi e con gli occhi chiari, ma dal taglio degli occhi e dagli zigomi ci si può render conto che questo ormai è un altro mondo. Il timoniere ha ragione: il bosco nordico non ha fine e anche se si tratta di betulle storte e ingobbite, un po' spettrali con i propri tronchi bianchi, o di pinastri radi e nodosi, o di cespugli di ontani e salici nani, anche se si tratta di ceppi e moncherini, un tempo tutto questo è stato un bosco, prima dell'arrivo dell'uomo, di una slavina o di qualche altra catastrofe. A dire il vero è più tundra che bosco; c'è così poca terra che i pali del telegrao non possono essere piantati e devono circondarli di una massicciata per ternerli in piedi. Per miglia di viaggio (parlo naturalmente di miglia marine) non c'è traccia dell'uomo, solo qualche capanna lappone in rovina; eppure al margine della tundra, a un tronco di betulla, è appesa una cassetta postale. Se sapessi chi va a ritirarvi la posta gli manderei gli auguri di Natale e cartoline da diverse città e paesi, per il piacere di farli arrivare a quella casetta solitaria nel bosco nordico”

LettersMailTravelling
Book:Cesta na sever
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