For Everson Castro a those, sheet of paper Imagines, therefore, prostrado ahead of one escravinha any of blank paper that would only serve to it to print any pertaining to school work, or simply to joke a music cipher in case that you knew to touch, for example, an old violo. It is calmed reading, we do not deal with here an other people’s metaphor to any meaningless aluso, then we will know all of the functionality of this simple ones to think. All we have doubts human existenciais instigantes, that resvalam in those things of the type ' ' of where we came? ' ' , ' ' for where we go? ' ' , or, even though, ' ' how is reached the happiness in this world of irremediable sufferings? ' ' , thus we think sufficiently about true the sensible one (if it is that it exists) for our humble lives. I think that we could give thanks to deuses, therefore to live confers so great responsibility, that deuses would not have the courage that we have to fight for something so provisory. Where this rests in everything, the paper of the religions? Where it is the paper of the deities that (I assume) we invent our necessities in accordance with preementes physicist-spirituals? Not yet we can arrive the conclusive answers on so simple quarrels, but, certainly, we have conditions to think of suggestive form. While I write I think, in how much time still I have to live in this world that as much I love, that as much I long for and how many sufferings wait still me in this to walk free among the gardens of lamentations that ei to face. Thus many questions only sobraram to be answered, however, I played them outside. They had been dispersed to the deep one of the dark room. .