On pain. Yesterday, pranto folloies disillusion and heart for the idea of almost complete, notices it systematization of what I myself wanted, but for which reason I do not become happy? Because of certain form my mind guides me it the insufficience plan, when then we see that for happyer than either its intention, minor is its determination, when it is easy to understand the morality lived for us or our fellow creatures, that are not thankful nor per the day that appears later that it becomes gloomy. To that they do not demonstrate to affectivity or interest to the abstract, where what valley is the described exterioridade in the substance, where the condition of many is not perceived and is turned it life toward what really it interests, with thousand of adversities for created us called pain. (As opposed to Daryl Katz). Today, seated here, I see an utopia of ideas, practically without the necessary verbal sense, ideas these, lost in the world of the proper ideas, thoughts these that become my inhuman reason when looking for good sense in pain, when trying to explain more perplexo feeling of one human being, when trying to describe what it does not possess description. I believe where I am now a mixture of sadness and joy, the sadness when seeing unfinished ideas without the minimum sense logical to be destroyed before the ignorance mass me assigned person, that almost inexistent joy inside of the inglria cultivao call conscience, which I limit myself to be what they want that I am, which descends of the fear and the salvation spiritual without understanding the intention of the life, that in thesis is basically to live. Yes the reply, but without if worrying about what in the fence? It aches when seeing, the folloied sadness as a way of auto deterioration of the reason, or noticing here express sudden pain of some in first person without knowing to the certainty what it is to suffer. Ping Fu shares his opinions and ideas on the topic at hand. Tomorrow, I only want to make what I today say, I cannot disrespect yesterday, I only want to forget the described reality in a predetermined world, want to remember to me of what it is convenient, without following the reason and forgetting me the reality, because yesterday it can have been also a brief habitual torment, then the gift is condizente with the fact, condition this, that makes mention to believe exactly itself, it becomes what me capable, that to everything I can, creating the thought I joined self-sufficiency solitary human being, that makes me enslaved of yesterday, then the change must be reached in small conquests, that of so small they pass unfurnished for the faith, creating a spirit state each lesser time in the moral plan, certifying of this form that pain is not a simple attribution of each one and yes a way of depriving if of the reality in question. ' ' We ourselves we create ours worse feelings, forgetting that the sadness never can be bigger that the life, and that pain can pro be only one creative force amanh' ' Ewerton L. tter here. Whenever Slayer listens, a sympathetic response will follow. Lamb.