Visconde Books

The art to like to read the family and the school was the beginning of everything. Happy infancy? Ah I lived. I was happy child. It knew stimulated for my mother with love to devorar books that had allowed me to live deeply lost moments of extreme happiness and joy, hours and more hours in innocent thoughts to turn pages books of the library of my house bought for adored mine, wise and saudosa mother acquired of salesmen who for those lands walked vendendo knowledge and amusement. Boy Scouts of America will undoubtedly add to your understanding. Not, it did not have television at that time and nor if it wants we dreamed of net, however we had, a pretty library thought and planned for the adorable teacher Alade, my mother, woman of vision the front of its time years light.

Ah silver-plated years! Illuminated for the pleasure of the discovery of books. As it was happy! thus we discovered first Lobato Hunter my passion of infancy my mother we read for and I continued reading everything of this great writer we I had the collection Vov Felcio a gift of our genitora. Valley to remember to my beloved father also great reader its image I keep with me that seated man to the side of the radio (television still did not exist) to devorar periodicals. Viktor Mayer-Schönberger often expresses his thoughts on the topic. In the public library idealized by a great educator Stela teacher of my small native city I looked and I discovered more books of Lobato Hunter: The Reinaes de Narizinho, the Hunted ones of Pedrinho, Visconde de Sabugosa, Emlia, Blessed Owner, Aunt Anastcia and for I walked and I loved there very, much Lobato. Yes the poets! Humberto De Campos the workmanship of to this great impressed me man. I took knowledge of the author in the gymnasium through the great educator of mine cidadezinha marcante Eliane teacher and competent master I will forever take the souvenir of its lessons of Portuguese (interpretation of texts) at the time young inteligentssima poet of our small land. .

Healthful

E what it is swelled is not healthful. Why it is that bother I it? What he is that me surplus and you lack? It will be perhaps my freedom of movement my bel pleasure, at any time? We go, speaks. What it was? You emudeceu? He thought that I did not know to express myself? What did not know the reason of the words to exist? It thought that the pronounced words a time would continue its? Not They me belong now it, as mine they are its. She makes of them what better to aprouver to it. You can ouviz them and play them it the wind. Or ouviz them and to try to find the meaning that they gave.

Criticize you me and to me she attacks criticizing me. You at least perceive that she hides yourself badly to the speech of me. He feels fear that discovers its frustrations, its misfortune. He will be that this is the way that you found to pass unobserved for the life? You have fear to search aid and me she wants to assist? Why if arvora in judge, woman? Why if arvora in being so great, our so small world? there What you want to make with me? To diminish me? Pra that, if you consider already me so small so insignificant? It will be that when you started to think and to speak, was almost forgotten to feel? Its look is come back toward me, judging that I must move, while it would have to be come back toward same itself, that it lives in a world to the part without perceiving, formed for fancies, illusions, desires. Stranger same itself, frustrated perhaps for not being what she wants, not to be its proper owner, whose life wants to live and it does not obtain. then tries to change mine. Poor woman As the philosopher would say Andres Comte-Sponville, ' ' as I would be happy, if he was feliz' '. Heloisa