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<?xml-stylesheet type="text/xsl" media="screen" href="/~d/styles/atom10full.xsl"?><?xml-stylesheet type="text/css" media="screen" href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~d/styles/itemcontent.css"?><feed xmlns="http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom" xmlns:openSearch="http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearch/1.1/" xmlns:georss="http://www.georss.org/georss" xmlns:gd="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005" xmlns:thr="http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0" xmlns:feedburner="http://rssnamespace.org/feedburner/ext/1.0" gd:etag="W/&quot;DkUARnYzeip7ImA9WhRXGEs.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7982604358912608758</id><updated>2011-12-25T23:50:47.882-02:00</updated><title>Caminhando pelas RUAS</title><subtitle type="html">Pensamentos, poemas, desvaneios e muito mais...</subtitle><link rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://nilmaruas.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://nilmaruas.blogspot.com/" /><link rel="next" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7982604358912608758/posts/default?start-index=26&amp;max-results=25&amp;redirect=false&amp;v=2" /><author><name>Nilma Ruas</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14517411796859519447</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="32" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-sN4SPUgXIVM/TX_sap2NvoI/AAAAAAAAAks/T--feEdNp_g/s220/nilma.bmp" /></author><generator version="7.00" uri="http://www.blogger.com">Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>93</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>25</openSearch:itemsPerPage><atom10:link xmlns:atom10="http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom" rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/CaminhandoPelasRuas" /><feedburner:info uri="caminhandopelasruas" /><atom10:link xmlns:atom10="http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom" rel="hub" href="http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/" /><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DEIBRHg-fyp7ImA9WhZQGUU.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7982604358912608758.post-5477303610616561481</id><published>2011-04-28T07:29:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2011-04-28T07:29:15.657-03:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-04-28T07:29:15.657-03:00</app:edited><title>Sempre fui assim...</title><content type="html">
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/kq4VVAJSCBKlNlvrl-xSq59qCc8/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/kq4VVAJSCBKlNlvrl-xSq59qCc8/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/kq4VVAJSCBKlNlvrl-xSq59qCc8/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/kq4VVAJSCBKlNlvrl-xSq59qCc8/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ZLGF1eTUMc8/TblBYxib5yI/AAAAAAAAAv0/NH3_R0nvnvs/s1600/thumbnailCA19N4HX.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" j8="true" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ZLGF1eTUMc8/TblBYxib5yI/AAAAAAAAAv0/NH3_R0nvnvs/s1600/thumbnailCA19N4HX.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"&gt;"Deslocado do mundo às vezes me sinto. Se me oferecem quente ou frio, opto pelo morno. Sempre fui assim. Difícil. Porém intenso, o que me salva de ser um grande chato. Quando sinto algo, sinto de verdade, com os cinco sentidos mais um (o sexto). Por isso às vezes sofro. É difícil encontrar quem compreenda." &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"&gt;(FELTRIN, Diuân)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7982604358912608758-5477303610616561481?l=nilmaruas.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/CaminhandoPelasRuas/~4/lYk0noIZrSM" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://nilmaruas.blogspot.com/feeds/5477303610616561481/comments/default" title="Postar comentários" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://nilmaruas.blogspot.com/2011/04/sempre-fui-assim.html#comment-form" title="2 Comentários" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7982604358912608758/posts/default/5477303610616561481?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7982604358912608758/posts/default/5477303610616561481?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/CaminhandoPelasRuas/~3/lYk0noIZrSM/sempre-fui-assim.html" title="Sempre fui assim..." /><author><name>Nilma Ruas</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14517411796859519447</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="32" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-sN4SPUgXIVM/TX_sap2NvoI/AAAAAAAAAks/T--feEdNp_g/s220/nilma.bmp" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ZLGF1eTUMc8/TblBYxib5yI/AAAAAAAAAv0/NH3_R0nvnvs/s72-c/thumbnailCA19N4HX.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>2</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://nilmaruas.blogspot.com/2011/04/sempre-fui-assim.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DEEGQH4yfCp7ImA9WhZQGUU.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7982604358912608758.post-7442008231482845831</id><published>2011-04-15T21:16:00.007-03:00</published><updated>2011-04-28T07:30:21.094-03:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-04-28T07:30:21.094-03:00</app:edited><title>Perdi minha identidade...</title><content type="html">
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/Dtnhj6iTGOuOa6S8YlWMkxrk76s/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/Dtnhj6iTGOuOa6S8YlWMkxrk76s/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/Dtnhj6iTGOuOa6S8YlWMkxrk76s/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/Dtnhj6iTGOuOa6S8YlWMkxrk76s/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-fBRcYXmLJWI/TajfjEBEulI/AAAAAAAAAuY/3u89akv7oqE/s1600/confusa.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="400" r6="true" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-fBRcYXmLJWI/TajfjEBEulI/AAAAAAAAAuY/3u89akv7oqE/s400/confusa.jpg" width="273" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"&gt;Quem sou eu &lt;span style="color: magenta;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: black;"&gt;?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"&gt;Se alguém souber me responde...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"&gt;Porque eu não sei mais&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"&gt;Estou insegura e confusa...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"&gt;Com um enorme vazio dentro de mim...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"&gt;Faz algum tempo que me perdi...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"&gt;Com as desilusões,&amp;nbsp; me enchi de tristeza&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"&gt;Me sinto fraca, sem forças para lutar...&lt;/div&gt;Sempre com&amp;nbsp;uma lágrima&amp;nbsp;prestes a rolar ...&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"&gt;Não sei nem quem são os responsáveis pelo meu esquecimento...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"&gt;Me sinto um nada, anônima...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"&gt;Quero me encontrar...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"&gt;Se não, desapareço de vez...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7982604358912608758-7442008231482845831?l=nilmaruas.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/CaminhandoPelasRuas/~4/GmVTEjTfwy0" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://nilmaruas.blogspot.com/feeds/7442008231482845831/comments/default" title="Postar comentários" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://nilmaruas.blogspot.com/2011/04/perdi-minha-identidade.html#comment-form" title="0 Comentários" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7982604358912608758/posts/default/7442008231482845831?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7982604358912608758/posts/default/7442008231482845831?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/CaminhandoPelasRuas/~3/GmVTEjTfwy0/perdi-minha-identidade.html" title="Perdi minha identidade..." /><author><name>Nilma Ruas</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14517411796859519447</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="32" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-sN4SPUgXIVM/TX_sap2NvoI/AAAAAAAAAks/T--feEdNp_g/s220/nilma.bmp" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-fBRcYXmLJWI/TajfjEBEulI/AAAAAAAAAuY/3u89akv7oqE/s72-c/confusa.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://nilmaruas.blogspot.com/2011/04/perdi-minha-identidade.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;C0IERHs8eSp7ImA9WhZRGE4.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7982604358912608758.post-6902411284601764626</id><published>2011-04-14T22:26:00.002-03:00</published><updated>2011-04-14T22:38:25.571-03:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-04-14T22:38:25.571-03:00</app:edited><title>Esperança...</title><content type="html">
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/NC1FCQPEuI9AE01tv_mTzX_Tmnw/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/NC1FCQPEuI9AE01tv_mTzX_Tmnw/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/NC1FCQPEuI9AE01tv_mTzX_Tmnw/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/NC1FCQPEuI9AE01tv_mTzX_Tmnw/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-SZKGE88lDpI/Taeeulc7xpI/AAAAAAAAAuU/jVGbTancl6E/s1600/images.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="140" r6="true" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-SZKGE88lDpI/Taeeulc7xpI/AAAAAAAAAuU/jVGbTancl6E/s200/images.jpg" width="200" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;"É no silêncio que eu, arquiteto de mim, desenho este novo mundo... Porém desperto: algo acontece lá fora. Saio de minha torre de marfim e volto à realidade. Lá no recôndito de meu ser prevalece uma pequena brasa esperançosa, prestes a incendiar-me por completo..." &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;(Diuân Feltrin)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7982604358912608758-6902411284601764626?l=nilmaruas.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/CaminhandoPelasRuas/~4/BlB0bdhsWlU" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://nilmaruas.blogspot.com/feeds/6902411284601764626/comments/default" title="Postar comentários" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://nilmaruas.blogspot.com/2011/04/esperanca.html#comment-form" title="1 Comentários" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7982604358912608758/posts/default/6902411284601764626?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7982604358912608758/posts/default/6902411284601764626?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/CaminhandoPelasRuas/~3/BlB0bdhsWlU/esperanca.html" title="Esperança..." /><author><name>Nilma Ruas</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14517411796859519447</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="32" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-sN4SPUgXIVM/TX_sap2NvoI/AAAAAAAAAks/T--feEdNp_g/s220/nilma.bmp" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-SZKGE88lDpI/Taeeulc7xpI/AAAAAAAAAuU/jVGbTancl6E/s72-c/images.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>1</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://nilmaruas.blogspot.com/2011/04/esperanca.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DEAAQX48cCp7ImA9WhZQGUU.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7982604358912608758.post-6764320828432352559</id><published>2011-04-13T08:59:00.001-03:00</published><updated>2011-04-28T07:32:20.078-03:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-04-28T07:32:20.078-03:00</app:edited><title>Tenho saudade</title><content type="html">
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/4zmGELVMOR5N4UbRT1WNjJVXM3U/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/4zmGELVMOR5N4UbRT1WNjJVXM3U/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/4zmGELVMOR5N4UbRT1WNjJVXM3U/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/4zmGELVMOR5N4UbRT1WNjJVXM3U/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-d-iJCAndD4g/TaWPr1h0YhI/AAAAAAAAAt8/vBZ0_r012vk/s1600/casal.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="320" i8="true" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-d-iJCAndD4g/TaWPr1h0YhI/AAAAAAAAAt8/vBZ0_r012vk/s320/casal.jpg" width="240" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"&gt;Quanta saudade tenho de você...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"&gt;Tenho saudade dos nossos divertidos passeios...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"&gt;Das alegres brincadeiras...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"&gt;Dos&amp;nbsp;nossos anseios...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"&gt;Sinto falta de tudo...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"&gt;Sinto&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;falta da sua voz ..&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"&gt;Do seu&amp;nbsp; carinho...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"&gt;De quanto erámos nós...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"&gt;Eu e você!...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"&gt;Te amo pra sempre!!!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7982604358912608758-6764320828432352559?l=nilmaruas.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/CaminhandoPelasRuas/~4/1Zr0j89XuGk" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://nilmaruas.blogspot.com/feeds/6764320828432352559/comments/default" title="Postar comentários" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://nilmaruas.blogspot.com/2011/04/tenho-saudade.html#comment-form" title="1 Comentários" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7982604358912608758/posts/default/6764320828432352559?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7982604358912608758/posts/default/6764320828432352559?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/CaminhandoPelasRuas/~3/1Zr0j89XuGk/tenho-saudade.html" title="Tenho saudade" /><author><name>Nilma Ruas</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14517411796859519447</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="32" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-sN4SPUgXIVM/TX_sap2NvoI/AAAAAAAAAks/T--feEdNp_g/s220/nilma.bmp" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-d-iJCAndD4g/TaWPr1h0YhI/AAAAAAAAAt8/vBZ0_r012vk/s72-c/casal.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>1</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://nilmaruas.blogspot.com/2011/04/tenho-saudade.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DEYGQXwycSp7ImA9WhZRFkQ.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7982604358912608758.post-3726598113532058974</id><published>2011-04-12T18:39:00.001-03:00</published><updated>2011-04-13T09:02:00.299-03:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-04-13T09:02:00.299-03:00</app:edited><title>Salvem as mulheres!!!!</title><content type="html">
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/Ss8AZ6I-wk0pX_f59dku-NEo4Gs/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/Ss8AZ6I-wk0pX_f59dku-NEo4Gs/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/Ss8AZ6I-wk0pX_f59dku-NEo4Gs/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/Ss8AZ6I-wk0pX_f59dku-NEo4Gs/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;Eu já admirava Luis Antonio Veríssimo, mas depois de ler este texto passei a admirá-lo ainda mais. Recebi o texto por e-mail&amp;nbsp;de minha irmã, Vera Lúcia, na semana passada, e adorei. Agora,&amp;nbsp;divido aqui&amp;nbsp;com vocês.&amp;nbsp;Você que é mulher, peça para seu namorado ou&amp;nbsp;esposo ler, com certeza ele vai passar a entender você melhor.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;tbody&gt;
&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-HkwagFyeCPQ/TaTFlQdJKeI/AAAAAAAAAtw/hBH5-_qJluc/s1600/veri.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="215" r6="true" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-HkwagFyeCPQ/TaTFlQdJKeI/AAAAAAAAAtw/hBH5-_qJluc/s320/veri.jpg" width="320" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;
&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Luis Antonio Veríssimo&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;
&lt;/tbody&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;strong&gt;Um homem inteligente falando das mulheres&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
"O desrespeito à natureza tem afetado a sobrevivência de vários seres e entre os mais ameaçados está a fêmea da espécie humana. Tenho apenas um exemplar em casa, que mantenho com muito zelo e dedicação, mas na verdade acredito que é ela quem me mantém. Portanto, por uma questão de auto sobrevivência, lanço a campanha 'Salvem as Mulheres!'&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Pu3lQmdGK9U/TaTGJZHsMzI/AAAAAAAAAt4/bJ3hbJdMC_0/s1600/mulher20triste.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="320" r6="true" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Pu3lQmdGK9U/TaTGJZHsMzI/AAAAAAAAAt4/bJ3hbJdMC_0/s320/mulher20triste.jpg" width="227" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"&gt;Tomem aqui os meus poucos conhecimentos em fisiologia da feminilidade a fim de que preservemos os raros e preciosos exemplares que ainda restam:&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;strong&gt;1. Habitat&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Mulher não pode ser mantida em cativeiro. Se for engaiolada, fugirá ou morrerá por dentro. Não há corrente que as prenda e as que se submetem à jaula perdem o seu DNA. Você jamais terá a posse de uma mulher, o que vai prendê-la a você é uma linha frágil que precisa ser reforçada diariamente.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;strong&gt;2. Alimentação correta&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Ninguém vive de vento. Mulher vive de carinho. Dê-lhe em abundância. É coisa de homem, sim, e se ela não receber de você vai pegar de outro. Beijos matinais e um 'eu te amo’ no café da manhã as mantém viçosas e perfumadas durante todo o dia. Um abraço diário é como a água para as samambaias. Não a deixe desidratar. Pelo menos uma vez por mês é necessário, senão obrigatório, servir um prato especial.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;strong&gt;3. Flores&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Também fazem parte de seu cardápio – mulher que não recebe flores murcha rapidamente e adquire traços masculinos como rispidez e brutalidade.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;strong&gt;4. Respeite a natureza&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Você não suporta TPM? Case-se com um homem. Mulheres menstruam, choram por nada, gostam de falar do próprio dia, discutir a relação? Se quiser viver com uma mulher, prepare-se para isso.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;strong&gt;5. Não tolha a sua vaidade&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
É da mulher hidratar as mechas, pintar as unhas, passar batom, gastar o dia inteiro no salão de beleza, colecionar brincos, comprar muitos sapatos, ficar horas escolhendo roupas no shopping. Entenda tudo isso e apoie.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;strong&gt;6. Cérebro feminino não é um mito&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Por insegurança, a maioria dos homens prefere não acreditar na existência do cérebro feminino. Por isso, procuram aquelas que fingem não possuí-lo (e algumas realmente o aposentaram!). Então, aguente mais essa: mulher sem cérebro não é mulher, mas um mero objeto de decoração. Se você se cansou de colecionar bibelôs, tente se relacionar com uma mulher. Algumas vão lhe mostrar que têm mais massa cinzenta do que você. Não fuja dessas, aprenda com elas e cresça. E não se preocupe, ao contrário do que ocorre com os homens, a inteligência não funciona como repelente para as mulheres. Não faça sombra sobre ela.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Se você quiser ser um grande homem tenha uma mulher ao seu lado, nunca atrás. Assim, quando ela brilhar, você vai pegar um bronzeado. Porém, se ela estiver atrás, você vai levar um pé-na-bunda.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Aceite: mulheres também têm luz própria e não dependem de nós para brilhar. O homem sábio alimenta os potenciais da parceira e os utiliza para motivar os próprios. Ele sabe que, preservando e cultivando a mulher, ele estará salvando a si mesmo.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;strong&gt;Luis Antonio Veríssimo&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7982604358912608758-3726598113532058974?l=nilmaruas.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/CaminhandoPelasRuas/~4/UCyu5gOuQ2w" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://nilmaruas.blogspot.com/feeds/3726598113532058974/comments/default" title="Postar comentários" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://nilmaruas.blogspot.com/2011/04/salvem-as-mulheres.html#comment-form" title="1 Comentários" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7982604358912608758/posts/default/3726598113532058974?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7982604358912608758/posts/default/3726598113532058974?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/CaminhandoPelasRuas/~3/UCyu5gOuQ2w/salvem-as-mulheres.html" title="Salvem as mulheres!!!!" /><author><name>Nilma Ruas</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14517411796859519447</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="32" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-sN4SPUgXIVM/TX_sap2NvoI/AAAAAAAAAks/T--feEdNp_g/s220/nilma.bmp" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-HkwagFyeCPQ/TaTFlQdJKeI/AAAAAAAAAtw/hBH5-_qJluc/s72-c/veri.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>1</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://nilmaruas.blogspot.com/2011/04/salvem-as-mulheres.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DE4NQnw9eCp7ImA9WhZTFk4.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7982604358912608758.post-1743891982953070830</id><published>2011-03-20T13:02:00.001-03:00</published><updated>2011-03-20T13:03:13.260-03:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-03-20T13:03:13.260-03:00</app:edited><title>Sonhe sempre!!!!</title><content type="html">
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/3ScQF_RFxfgZ3z3bsT2IpM6_GKE/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/3ScQF_RFxfgZ3z3bsT2IpM6_GKE/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/3ScQF_RFxfgZ3z3bsT2IpM6_GKE/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/3ScQF_RFxfgZ3z3bsT2IpM6_GKE/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-9-EXWs99LxM/TYYlGqGmq9I/AAAAAAAAAoQ/pDOGNPXf0Pw/s1600/sone.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" r6="true" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-9-EXWs99LxM/TYYlGqGmq9I/AAAAAAAAAoQ/pDOGNPXf0Pw/s1600/sone.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;Sonhe com aquilo que você quer ser,&lt;br /&gt;
porque você possui apenas uma vida&lt;br /&gt;
e nela só se tem uma chance&lt;br /&gt;
de fazer aquilo que quer.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Tenha felicidade bastante para fazê-la doce.&lt;br /&gt;
Dificuldades para fazê-la forte.&lt;br /&gt;
Tristeza para fazê-la humana.&lt;br /&gt;
E esperança suficiente para fazê-la feliz. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
As pessoas mais felizes não tem as melhores coisas.&lt;br /&gt;
Elas sabem fazer o melhor das oportunidades&lt;br /&gt;
que aparecem em seus caminhos.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
A felicidade aparece para aqueles que choram.&lt;br /&gt;
Para aqueles que se machucam&lt;br /&gt;
Para aqueles que buscam e tentam sempre.&lt;br /&gt;
E para aqueles que reconhecem&lt;br /&gt;
a importância das pessoas que passaram por suas vidas.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Clarice Lispector (O Sonho)&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;a name='more'&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7982604358912608758-1743891982953070830?l=nilmaruas.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/CaminhandoPelasRuas/~4/LUMUR2Ipv50" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://nilmaruas.blogspot.com/feeds/1743891982953070830/comments/default" title="Postar comentários" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://nilmaruas.blogspot.com/2011/03/sonhe-sempre.html#comment-form" title="3 Comentários" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7982604358912608758/posts/default/1743891982953070830?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7982604358912608758/posts/default/1743891982953070830?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/CaminhandoPelasRuas/~3/LUMUR2Ipv50/sonhe-sempre.html" title="Sonhe sempre!!!!" /><author><name>Nilma Ruas</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14517411796859519447</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="32" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-sN4SPUgXIVM/TX_sap2NvoI/AAAAAAAAAks/T--feEdNp_g/s220/nilma.bmp" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-9-EXWs99LxM/TYYlGqGmq9I/AAAAAAAAAoQ/pDOGNPXf0Pw/s72-c/sone.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>3</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://nilmaruas.blogspot.com/2011/03/sonhe-sempre.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;D0YFQXwzeSp7ImA9WhZTEko.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7982604358912608758.post-4812626197018126730</id><published>2011-03-10T19:22:00.005-03:00</published><updated>2011-03-16T08:31:50.281-03:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-03-16T08:31:50.281-03:00</app:edited><title>Ajude-me Senhor...</title><content type="html">
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/ScjYrlWt9IS_MZ-Z3a2_AzMzqec/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/ScjYrlWt9IS_MZ-Z3a2_AzMzqec/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/ScjYrlWt9IS_MZ-Z3a2_AzMzqec/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/ScjYrlWt9IS_MZ-Z3a2_AzMzqec/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-5eLCKacr98s/TXlPmw3LxaI/AAAAAAAAAiw/roNfF3mWZFk/s1600/thumbnail.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; cssfloat: right; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" q6="true" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-5eLCKacr98s/TXlPmw3LxaI/AAAAAAAAAiw/roNfF3mWZFk/s1600/thumbnail.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;"Meu céu azul se encobriu...&lt;br /&gt;
Nuvens negras assustam...&lt;br /&gt;
O vento frio me envolveu...&lt;br /&gt;
Inimigos que ameaçam...&lt;br /&gt;
Ausente sinto o criador...&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Longe, longe o seu amor...&lt;br /&gt;
Como posso confiar, sem ninguém de mim cuidar...&lt;br /&gt;
Fraqueza tal me dominou...&lt;br /&gt;
Nada mais consigo, ninguém consegue me ajudar...&lt;br /&gt;
Nada, nada adianta...&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Senhor, estou rodeado por muitas dificuldades...&lt;br /&gt;
Tantas que nem posso contar...&lt;br /&gt;
Oh, senhor criador, salva-me, ajuda-me agora...&lt;br /&gt;
Eu sou pobre e necessitado...&lt;br /&gt;
Mas tú senhor cuidas de mim...&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Enfim, tudo aconteceu...&lt;br /&gt;
O meu Deus se revelou...&lt;br /&gt;
A minha angústia desapareceu...&lt;br /&gt;
Tornou-se um sorriso...&lt;br /&gt;
Presente eu sinto o criador...&lt;br /&gt;
Perto, perto o seu amor...&lt;br /&gt;
Nele posso confiar...ele vai de mim cuidar..."&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Autor da letra desconhecido&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7982604358912608758-4812626197018126730?l=nilmaruas.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/CaminhandoPelasRuas/~4/JB4hZnvDeok" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://nilmaruas.blogspot.com/feeds/4812626197018126730/comments/default" title="Postar comentários" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://nilmaruas.blogspot.com/2011/03/presente-eu-sinto-o-criador.html#comment-form" title="0 Comentários" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7982604358912608758/posts/default/4812626197018126730?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7982604358912608758/posts/default/4812626197018126730?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/CaminhandoPelasRuas/~3/JB4hZnvDeok/presente-eu-sinto-o-criador.html" title="Ajude-me Senhor..." /><author><name>Nilma Ruas</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14517411796859519447</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="32" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-sN4SPUgXIVM/TX_sap2NvoI/AAAAAAAAAks/T--feEdNp_g/s220/nilma.bmp" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-5eLCKacr98s/TXlPmw3LxaI/AAAAAAAAAiw/roNfF3mWZFk/s72-c/thumbnail.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://nilmaruas.blogspot.com/2011/03/presente-eu-sinto-o-criador.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;D0UNSXw7eCp7ImA9WhZTEko.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7982604358912608758.post-5858954913281118736</id><published>2011-03-04T07:52:00.008-03:00</published><updated>2011-03-16T08:34:58.200-03:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-03-16T08:34:58.200-03:00</app:edited><title>Quero o novo na minha vida!!!</title><content type="html">
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/097YEhSUXRcAmwdOKwqBhgXf9Vk/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/097YEhSUXRcAmwdOKwqBhgXf9Vk/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/097YEhSUXRcAmwdOKwqBhgXf9Vk/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/097YEhSUXRcAmwdOKwqBhgXf9Vk/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"&gt;&lt;a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-g4xNiHqzqME/TXDDXcJRi-I/AAAAAAAAAh0/Kuius2lPvV0/s1600/novo.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="237" l6="true" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-g4xNiHqzqME/TXDDXcJRi-I/AAAAAAAAAh0/Kuius2lPvV0/s320/novo.bmp" width="320" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="color: black; font-family: Times, &amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;, serif;"&gt;Depois de ler&amp;nbsp;o texto de Joseph Newton, chega de ficar guardando coisas que não me servem mais, objetos inúteis. Como ensina o autor do texto, estou criando um espaço, um vazio, para que as coisas novas cheguem a minha vida. De hoje em diante vou guardar somente alegrias, carinhos, felicidade, confiança, fé, amigos, bondade, amor…&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Times, &amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;, serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: black; font-family: Times, &amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;, serif;"&gt;E você, já praticou o desapego na sua vida&lt;span style="color: #663300; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: PT-BR; mso-bidi-font-family: &amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: &amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;; mso-fareast-language: PT-BR;"&gt;?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;strong&gt; &lt;/strong&gt;Dispense&amp;nbsp;também o que não te serve mais, pode ser roupas, objetos, esposo (a)&amp;nbsp;namorado (a)...rs...deixa o novo entrar na sua vida!!!! Comparação esdrúxula, mas faz parte...rs&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: #660000; font-family: Times, &amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;, serif;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Texto na integra:&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="color: #660000; font-family: Times, &amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;, serif;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: #660000; font-family: Times, &amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;, serif;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Tens o hábito de juntar objetos inúteis acreditando que um dia (não sabes quando) vais necessitar deles? Tens o hábito de juntar dinheiro sem gastá-lo, pois imaginas que ele poderá faltar no futuro? Tens o hábito de guardar roupas, sapatos, móveis, utensílios domésticos e outras coisas que já não usas há muito tempo?&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="color: #660000; font-family: Times, &amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;, serif;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="color: #660000; font-family: Times, &amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;, serif;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;E dentro de ti?… Tens o hábito de guardar raivas, ressentimentos, tristezas, medos e outros sentimentos negativos?&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color: #660000; font-family: Times, &amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;, serif;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="color: #660000; font-family: Times, &amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;, serif;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Não faças isso! Vai contra a tua prosperidade!&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color: #660000; font-family: Times, &amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;, serif;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="color: #660000; font-family: Times, &amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;, serif;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;É preciso deixar um espaço, um vazio para que novas coisas cheguem à tua vida. É preciso se desfazer do inútil que há em ti e em tua vida para que a prosperidade possa acontecer.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color: #660000; font-family: Times, &amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;, serif;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="color: #660000; font-family: Times, &amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;, serif;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;A força deste vazio é que atrairá e absorverá tudo o que desejas. Se acumulares objetos e sentimentos velhos e inúteis não terás espaço para novas oportunidades. Os bens necessitam circular. Limpe as gavetas, os armários, o depósito, a garagem, a mente…&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color: #660000; font-family: Times, &amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;, serif;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="color: #660000; font-family: Times, &amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;, serif;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Doe tudo aquilo que já não usas… &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color: #660000; font-family: Times, &amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;, serif;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="color: #660000; font-family: Times, &amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;, serif;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;A atitude de guardar um monte de coisas inúteis só acorrenta a tua vida. Não são só os objetos guardados que paralisam a tua vida.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color: #660000; font-family: Times, &amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;, serif;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: #660000; font-family: Times, &amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;, serif;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Eis o significado da atitude de guardar: quando se guarda, se considera a possibilidade de falta, de carência… Acredita-se que, amanhã, poderá faltar e que não haverá maneira de suprir as necessidades… &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color: #660000; font-family: Times, &amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;, serif;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: #660000; font-family: Times, &amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;, serif;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Com esse pensamento, estás enviando duas mensagens ao teu cérebro e a tua vida: a de que não confias no amanhã, e que o novo e o melhor NÃO são para ti…&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color: #660000; font-family: Times, &amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;, serif;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;span style="color: #660000; font-family: Times, &amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;, serif;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Por isso te alegras guardando coisas velhas e inúteis. Até o que já perdeu a cor e o brilho…&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color: #660000; font-family: Times, &amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;, serif;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: #660000; font-family: Times, &amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;, serif;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Deixa entrar o novo em tua casa… E dentro de ti…&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color: #660000; font-family: Times, &amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;, serif;"&gt;(Joseph Newton)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="color: #660000; font-family: Times, &amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;, serif;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;﻿&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7982604358912608758-5858954913281118736?l=nilmaruas.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/CaminhandoPelasRuas/~4/fsf7s_2YmC8" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://nilmaruas.blogspot.com/feeds/5858954913281118736/comments/default" title="Postar comentários" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://nilmaruas.blogspot.com/2011/03/quero-o-novo-na-minha-vida.html#comment-form" title="0 Comentários" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7982604358912608758/posts/default/5858954913281118736?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7982604358912608758/posts/default/5858954913281118736?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/CaminhandoPelasRuas/~3/fsf7s_2YmC8/quero-o-novo-na-minha-vida.html" title="Quero o novo na minha vida!!!" /><author><name>Nilma Ruas</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14517411796859519447</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="32" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-sN4SPUgXIVM/TX_sap2NvoI/AAAAAAAAAks/T--feEdNp_g/s220/nilma.bmp" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-g4xNiHqzqME/TXDDXcJRi-I/AAAAAAAAAh0/Kuius2lPvV0/s72-c/novo.bmp" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://nilmaruas.blogspot.com/2011/03/quero-o-novo-na-minha-vida.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;D0YCQ3w7fip7ImA9WhZTEko.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7982604358912608758.post-7225379313487203385</id><published>2011-03-02T07:23:00.003-03:00</published><updated>2011-03-16T08:32:42.206-03:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-03-16T08:32:42.206-03:00</app:edited><title>Tenho medo...</title><content type="html">
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/Q4O0plyYEYD_BU2eCU_TC-FC-pg/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/Q4O0plyYEYD_BU2eCU_TC-FC-pg/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/Q4O0plyYEYD_BU2eCU_TC-FC-pg/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/Q4O0plyYEYD_BU2eCU_TC-FC-pg/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"&gt;&lt;div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-hwwC6VRLiHM/TW4aAIzcjAI/AAAAAAAAAhs/OKXhQesebCk/s1600/thumbnailCAELAW73.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-hwwC6VRLiHM/TW4aAIzcjAI/AAAAAAAAAhs/OKXhQesebCk/s320/thumbnailCAELAW73.jpg" width="262" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;Mas tenho medo do que é novo e tenho medo de viver o que não entendo - quero sempre ter a garantia de pelo menos estar pensando que entendo, não sei me entregar à desorientação.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"&gt;&lt;div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"&gt;Clarice Lispector &lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7982604358912608758-7225379313487203385?l=nilmaruas.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/CaminhandoPelasRuas/~4/TSvnFtaVgVE" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://nilmaruas.blogspot.com/feeds/7225379313487203385/comments/default" title="Postar comentários" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://nilmaruas.blogspot.com/2011/03/tenho-medo.html#comment-form" title="0 Comentários" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7982604358912608758/posts/default/7225379313487203385?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7982604358912608758/posts/default/7225379313487203385?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/CaminhandoPelasRuas/~3/TSvnFtaVgVE/tenho-medo.html" title="Tenho medo..." /><author><name>Nilma Ruas</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14517411796859519447</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="32" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-sN4SPUgXIVM/TX_sap2NvoI/AAAAAAAAAks/T--feEdNp_g/s220/nilma.bmp" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-hwwC6VRLiHM/TW4aAIzcjAI/AAAAAAAAAhs/OKXhQesebCk/s72-c/thumbnailCAELAW73.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://nilmaruas.blogspot.com/2011/03/tenho-medo.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DU4HSH0yeip7ImA9Wx9UF00.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7982604358912608758.post-7047215885443767298</id><published>2011-02-14T16:25:00.002-02:00</published><updated>2011-02-14T16:25:39.392-02:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-02-14T16:25:39.392-02:00</app:edited><title>Jessica Alba é minha sósia! Parecidissíma...rsrs</title><content type="html">
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/7oFeWqkrMGM5eT7ZqASDCEbRrLI/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/7oFeWqkrMGM5eT7ZqASDCEbRrLI/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/7oFeWqkrMGM5eT7ZqASDCEbRrLI/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/7oFeWqkrMGM5eT7ZqASDCEbRrLI/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.myheritage.com/collage" title="MyHeritage.com - árvore genealógicas gratuitas, genealogia e tecnologia de reconhecimento facial" alt="MyHeritage.com - árvore genealógicas gratuitas, genealogia e tecnologia de reconhecimento facial" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img src="http://www.myheritagefiles.com/D/storage/site1/files/76/82/61/768261_462187de7tub1024457963.JPG" width="302" height="342" border="0" &gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7982604358912608758-7047215885443767298?l=nilmaruas.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/CaminhandoPelasRuas/~4/OXrSmXekwDg" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://nilmaruas.blogspot.com/feeds/7047215885443767298/comments/default" title="Postar comentários" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://nilmaruas.blogspot.com/2011/02/jessica-alba-e-minha-sosia.html#comment-form" title="0 Comentários" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7982604358912608758/posts/default/7047215885443767298?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7982604358912608758/posts/default/7047215885443767298?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/CaminhandoPelasRuas/~3/OXrSmXekwDg/jessica-alba-e-minha-sosia.html" title="Jessica Alba é minha sósia! Parecidissíma...rsrs" /><author><name>Nilma Ruas</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14517411796859519447</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="32" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-sN4SPUgXIVM/TX_sap2NvoI/AAAAAAAAAks/T--feEdNp_g/s220/nilma.bmp" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://nilmaruas.blogspot.com/2011/02/jessica-alba-e-minha-sosia.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;D0UEQ3w7eyp7ImA9WhZTEko.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7982604358912608758.post-2326814891334056341</id><published>2011-02-06T22:05:00.003-02:00</published><updated>2011-03-16T08:33:22.203-03:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-03-16T08:33:22.203-03:00</app:edited><title>Ele chamará...</title><content type="html">
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/4Uxye_GQ6LZDgv4Lto5973pBCZI/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/4Uxye_GQ6LZDgv4Lto5973pBCZI/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/4Uxye_GQ6LZDgv4Lto5973pBCZI/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/4Uxye_GQ6LZDgv4Lto5973pBCZI/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;Este cântico emociona, e é esperança de reencontrar aqueles que se foram! É muito lindo, vale a pena assistir.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="390" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/gnVm-0sqxrQ" title="YouTube video player" width="480"&gt;&lt;/iframe&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7982604358912608758-2326814891334056341?l=nilmaruas.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/CaminhandoPelasRuas/~4/4vJEKPQRTFs" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://nilmaruas.blogspot.com/feeds/2326814891334056341/comments/default" title="Postar comentários" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://nilmaruas.blogspot.com/2011/02/ele-chamara.html#comment-form" title="0 Comentários" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7982604358912608758/posts/default/2326814891334056341?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7982604358912608758/posts/default/2326814891334056341?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/CaminhandoPelasRuas/~3/4vJEKPQRTFs/ele-chamara.html" title="Ele chamará..." /><author><name>Nilma Ruas</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14517411796859519447</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="32" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-sN4SPUgXIVM/TX_sap2NvoI/AAAAAAAAAks/T--feEdNp_g/s220/nilma.bmp" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://img.youtube.com/vi/gnVm-0sqxrQ/default.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://nilmaruas.blogspot.com/2011/02/ele-chamara.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;D0UFR3gyeSp7ImA9WhZTEko.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7982604358912608758.post-6716207144813174033</id><published>2011-02-04T22:57:00.006-02:00</published><updated>2011-03-16T08:33:36.691-03:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-03-16T08:33:36.691-03:00</app:edited><title>As vezes a vida é assim...</title><content type="html">
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/7HjkfzSwUDiu2-iHDCaJbzffEPc/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/7HjkfzSwUDiu2-iHDCaJbzffEPc/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/7HjkfzSwUDiu2-iHDCaJbzffEPc/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/7HjkfzSwUDiu2-iHDCaJbzffEPc/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;De sonhos desfeitos, pensamentos angustiantes, vazio sem fim...&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Ah, se não fosse aquele doce sorriso de quando me olham...&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Crianças inocentes; futuro deste país...&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"&gt;Como é bom tê-las ao meu lado,&amp;nbsp;poder sentir todo amor que tens por mim...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
Vê-las sorrindo, brincando...ah, como isso é bom...&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_iXubq4qBczc/TUyhakNlVsI/AAAAAAAAAho/J2woWYc9G-g/s1600/rumo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" h5="true" height="176" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_iXubq4qBczc/TUyhakNlVsI/AAAAAAAAAho/J2woWYc9G-g/s320/rumo.jpg" width="320" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Quando a gente pensa que o destino está traçado, que a estrada que pegamos deve ser seguida em linha reta, logo aparece uma curva a esquerda e outra a direita, nos fazendo mudar o rumo.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"&gt;Daí, vem as incertezas...Não sabemos se o rumo que vamos tomar é certo, mas temos que arriscar...seguir em frente...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
Uma certeza temos!! A vida é sempre cheia de incertezas...cheia de fases, ou melhor dizendo, cheia de momentos...&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Pois é, as vezes a&amp;nbsp;vida é assim...&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Horas cheia de alegria, horas cheia de penúria...&lt;br /&gt;
Horas cheia de amor, outra de desentendimentos...&lt;br /&gt;
Horas cheia de sonhos, planos, outra de&amp;nbsp;frustações...&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Que propósito tem Deus para conosco&lt;span style="font-family: Meiryo; mso-bidi-font-family: Meiryo;"&gt;?&lt;/span&gt;&amp;nbsp;Simples seres humanos pecadores...&lt;br /&gt;
Será este, um dos preços, que pagamos por sermos imperfeitos&lt;span style="font-family: Meiryo; mso-bidi-font-family: Meiryo;"&gt;?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7982604358912608758-6716207144813174033?l=nilmaruas.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/CaminhandoPelasRuas/~4/d4w8dOLc43U" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://nilmaruas.blogspot.com/feeds/6716207144813174033/comments/default" title="Postar comentários" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://nilmaruas.blogspot.com/2011/02/vida-e-assim.html#comment-form" title="0 Comentários" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7982604358912608758/posts/default/6716207144813174033?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7982604358912608758/posts/default/6716207144813174033?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/CaminhandoPelasRuas/~3/d4w8dOLc43U/vida-e-assim.html" title="As vezes a vida é assim..." /><author><name>Nilma Ruas</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14517411796859519447</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="32" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-sN4SPUgXIVM/TX_sap2NvoI/AAAAAAAAAks/T--feEdNp_g/s220/nilma.bmp" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_iXubq4qBczc/TUyhakNlVsI/AAAAAAAAAho/J2woWYc9G-g/s72-c/rumo.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://nilmaruas.blogspot.com/2011/02/vida-e-assim.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DkcHSHk_eyp7ImA9Wx9QE0w.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7982604358912608758.post-3150588750504826257</id><published>2010-12-25T19:53:00.002-02:00</published><updated>2010-12-25T19:53:59.743-02:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2010-12-25T19:53:59.743-02:00</app:edited><title>Cabelo bonito é sinônimo de beleza!</title><content type="html">
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/x-67uIMy34NrT6JiTdVgzcoNeVc/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/x-67uIMy34NrT6JiTdVgzcoNeVc/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/x-67uIMy34NrT6JiTdVgzcoNeVc/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/x-67uIMy34NrT6JiTdVgzcoNeVc/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;object height="385" width="480"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/vTKHjk_HNBk?fs=1&amp;amp;hl=pt_BR"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/vTKHjk_HNBk?fs=1&amp;amp;hl=pt_BR" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="480" height="385"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7982604358912608758-3150588750504826257?l=nilmaruas.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/CaminhandoPelasRuas/~4/ehPvV-ASZks" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://nilmaruas.blogspot.com/feeds/3150588750504826257/comments/default" title="Postar comentários" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://nilmaruas.blogspot.com/2010/12/cabelo-bonito-e-sinonimo-de-beleza.html#comment-form" title="1 Comentários" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7982604358912608758/posts/default/3150588750504826257?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7982604358912608758/posts/default/3150588750504826257?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/CaminhandoPelasRuas/~3/ehPvV-ASZks/cabelo-bonito-e-sinonimo-de-beleza.html" title="Cabelo bonito é sinônimo de beleza!" /><author><name>Nilma Ruas</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14517411796859519447</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="32" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-sN4SPUgXIVM/TX_sap2NvoI/AAAAAAAAAks/T--feEdNp_g/s220/nilma.bmp" /></author><thr:total>1</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://nilmaruas.blogspot.com/2010/12/cabelo-bonito-e-sinonimo-de-beleza.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;A04EQH8zcCp7ImA9Wx9RFks.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7982604358912608758.post-143370563886417063</id><published>2010-12-18T08:57:00.003-02:00</published><updated>2010-12-18T08:58:21.188-02:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2010-12-18T08:58:21.188-02:00</app:edited><title>Loja Body In também está no Shopping TV</title><content type="html">
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/2j5rBzjfW0MrQYRJc5hN7G2cHuk/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/2j5rBzjfW0MrQYRJc5hN7G2cHuk/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/2j5rBzjfW0MrQYRJc5hN7G2cHuk/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/2j5rBzjfW0MrQYRJc5hN7G2cHuk/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;object height="385" width="480"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/CE0pWzbsb20?fs=1&amp;amp;hl=pt_BR"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/CE0pWzbsb20?fs=1&amp;amp;hl=pt_BR" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="480" height="385"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7982604358912608758-143370563886417063?l=nilmaruas.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/CaminhandoPelasRuas/~4/AIG7x9Vwz8w" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://nilmaruas.blogspot.com/feeds/143370563886417063/comments/default" title="Postar comentários" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://nilmaruas.blogspot.com/2010/12/loja-body-in-tambem-esta-no-shoppin-tv.html#comment-form" title="0 Comentários" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7982604358912608758/posts/default/143370563886417063?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7982604358912608758/posts/default/143370563886417063?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/CaminhandoPelasRuas/~3/AIG7x9Vwz8w/loja-body-in-tambem-esta-no-shoppin-tv.html" title="Loja Body In também está no Shopping TV" /><author><name>Nilma Ruas</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14517411796859519447</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="32" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-sN4SPUgXIVM/TX_sap2NvoI/AAAAAAAAAks/T--feEdNp_g/s220/nilma.bmp" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://nilmaruas.blogspot.com/2010/12/loja-body-in-tambem-esta-no-shoppin-tv.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;C0cESHw-eip7ImA9Wx9SFU0.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7982604358912608758.post-8175527585755924478</id><published>2010-12-04T18:53:00.004-02:00</published><updated>2010-12-04T20:16:49.252-02:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2010-12-04T20:16:49.252-02:00</app:edited><title>Saudade que sufoca...</title><content type="html">
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/D4_iWa5giGJCsXXL8LDT2Kkb8D0/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/D4_iWa5giGJCsXXL8LDT2Kkb8D0/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/D4_iWa5giGJCsXXL8LDT2Kkb8D0/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/D4_iWa5giGJCsXXL8LDT2Kkb8D0/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;" Em todo lugar que estou olhando agora você me cerca com seu abraço..." (trecho da tradução da música da maravilhosa BeYoncé - HALO)&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;object height="385" width="480"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/CXFZz2rJknA?fs=1&amp;amp;hl=pt_BR"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/CXFZz2rJknA?fs=1&amp;amp;hl=pt_BR" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="480" height="385"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7982604358912608758-8175527585755924478?l=nilmaruas.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/CaminhandoPelasRuas/~4/lMOyoF9Qsek" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://nilmaruas.blogspot.com/feeds/8175527585755924478/comments/default" title="Postar comentários" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://nilmaruas.blogspot.com/2010/12/em-todo-lugar-que-estou-olando-agora.html#comment-form" title="0 Comentários" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7982604358912608758/posts/default/8175527585755924478?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7982604358912608758/posts/default/8175527585755924478?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/CaminhandoPelasRuas/~3/lMOyoF9Qsek/em-todo-lugar-que-estou-olando-agora.html" title="Saudade que sufoca..." /><author><name>Nilma Ruas</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14517411796859519447</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="32" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-sN4SPUgXIVM/TX_sap2NvoI/AAAAAAAAAks/T--feEdNp_g/s220/nilma.bmp" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://nilmaruas.blogspot.com/2010/12/em-todo-lugar-que-estou-olando-agora.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CkMMSX4zcSp7ImA9Wx9aEkk.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7982604358912608758.post-3189450787033239248</id><published>2010-12-02T19:31:00.016-02:00</published><updated>2011-03-04T09:08:08.089-03:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-03-04T09:08:08.089-03:00</app:edited><title>Desta vez, ela não me respondeu...</title><content type="html">
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/3mJlxJ4Blt_3_cXEM1gUdip51sw/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/3mJlxJ4Blt_3_cXEM1gUdip51sw/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/3mJlxJ4Blt_3_cXEM1gUdip51sw/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/3mJlxJ4Blt_3_cXEM1gUdip51sw/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"&gt;&lt;div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"&gt;&lt;div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_iXubq4qBczc/TPgQ9pMwjZI/AAAAAAAAAhc/_s1bHlyGOpg/s1600/olimpia+164.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="cssfloat: right; height: 240px; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; width: 299px;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="150" ox="true" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_iXubq4qBczc/TPgQ9pMwjZI/AAAAAAAAAhc/_s1bHlyGOpg/s200/olimpia+164.jpg" width="200" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;Esta é minha vózinha querida, Julieta. Mãe de minha mãe.&amp;nbsp;Ela mora em Santa Rita do Pardo, há 390 km de Birigui. A distância impossibilitou que nos víssemos com frequência, mas isso jamais diminuiu o meu amor por ela.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"&gt;&lt;div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"&gt;&lt;div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"&gt;Vózinha Julieta veio muitas vezes em Birigui nos visitar. E nós, meu pai, mãe e irmãos, também fomos muitas vezes visitá-la em Mato Grosso. Mas isso, quando eu era criança. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
De repente,&amp;nbsp; vózinha ficou doente e, pouco vinha para o estado de São Paulo. Uma das vezes que lembro-me com muita saudade, foi quando ela veio para Birigui,&amp;nbsp;há mais ou menos quinze anos atrás. Eu era solteira ainda, morava com minha mãe. Lembro-me que mamãe e vovó tomaram banho juntas. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Se você acha isso normal. Eu também. De vez em quando, tomo banho com minhas filhas pequenas. Na verdade, o que achei legal foi ver as duas juntas conversando após o banho. Naquele dia,&amp;nbsp;minha mãe parecia uma criança, penteava os cabelos da minha vó, fazia trança. Assim como minhas filhas fazem comigo hoje. &amp;nbsp;Foi uma cena linda que jamais sairá da minha mente.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Há dez anos atrás casei-me.&amp;nbsp;Quando tive a minha primeira filha, queria levá-la para vózinha conhecer. Mas,&amp;nbsp;a&amp;nbsp;rotina do meu dia a dia&amp;nbsp; não deixou. Sempre fazia planos para ir até ela, mas nunca conseguia concretizá-los.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
No final do mês de setembro, meu tio Túlio que mora em Araçatuba ficou muito doente, ele teve pancreatite. A sua doença, fez com que vózinha viesse para Araçatuba. Quando há vi, me emocinei muito. A emoção era tanta, que mal consegui dar atenção para meu tio, que estava mal.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Não contive as lágrimas e, chorei abraçada&amp;nbsp;a ela. Era, sei lá...tristeza, saudade&amp;nbsp;e alegria, tudo misturados. É, acho que era isso. Tristeza pelo meu tio, que estava mal, e saudade e alegria por rever minha vózinha querida. A foto acima foi tirada no dia em que revi ela. Dá para ver nitidamente a minha alegria, né?&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"&gt;Como fiquei feliz, realizei&amp;nbsp;o sonho de vê-la novamente e, ainda pude apresentá-la as minhas filhas. Passei a manhã com ela, que para mim foi maravilhosa. Quando estava indo embora, ela me disse: Já vai filha,.não vai não, fica mais... Como eu queria ficar mais, mas, como eu&amp;nbsp;trabalharia naquela tarde, não atendi o seu pedido.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"&gt;Infelizmente, no&amp;nbsp;dia 30 de novembro, às 17h45 min, minha vózinha Julieta, faleceu aos 87 anos. A noticia me deixou muito abalada.&amp;nbsp;Pensei comigo, não vou ver nunca mais minha vózinha.&amp;nbsp;Então, chorei de tristeza.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"&gt;Ontem , dia 01,&amp;nbsp;eu mamãe e minhas irmãs, fomos&amp;nbsp;a Santa Rita do Pardo - MG&amp;nbsp;ver vózinha pela última vez.&amp;nbsp;A&amp;nbsp;viagem foi longa e cansativa, mas, graças a Deus,&amp;nbsp;chegamos sã e salvas.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;No velório o clima era de tristeza. Vózinha seria enterrada às 17h00, mas eu não poderia esperar. Voltar 390 km no escuro, achei que não&amp;nbsp;seria bom. Então, me despedi ali mesmo e, diante do caixão de vózinha eu disse: tchau vózinha, já estou indo. Mas, desta vez, ela não me respondeu...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7982604358912608758-3189450787033239248?l=nilmaruas.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/CaminhandoPelasRuas/~4/FM1f6x5Ywk4" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://nilmaruas.blogspot.com/feeds/3189450787033239248/comments/default" title="Postar comentários" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://nilmaruas.blogspot.com/2010/12/desta-vez-ela-nao-me-respondeu.html#comment-form" title="1 Comentários" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7982604358912608758/posts/default/3189450787033239248?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7982604358912608758/posts/default/3189450787033239248?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/CaminhandoPelasRuas/~3/FM1f6x5Ywk4/desta-vez-ela-nao-me-respondeu.html" title="Desta vez, ela não me respondeu..." /><author><name>Nilma Ruas</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14517411796859519447</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="32" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-sN4SPUgXIVM/TX_sap2NvoI/AAAAAAAAAks/T--feEdNp_g/s220/nilma.bmp" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_iXubq4qBczc/TPgQ9pMwjZI/AAAAAAAAAhc/_s1bHlyGOpg/s72-c/olimpia+164.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>1</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://nilmaruas.blogspot.com/2010/12/desta-vez-ela-nao-me-respondeu.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DkYBR3wzfSp7ImA9Wx9TE0k.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7982604358912608758.post-7881084665115817434</id><published>2010-11-21T10:52:00.001-02:00</published><updated>2010-11-21T10:55:56.285-02:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2010-11-21T10:55:56.285-02:00</app:edited><title>Ah, aquele sonho...</title><content type="html">
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/-dc4CLVN_IkL6SlkMUad-ijtV8w/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/-dc4CLVN_IkL6SlkMUad-ijtV8w/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/-dc4CLVN_IkL6SlkMUad-ijtV8w/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/-dc4CLVN_IkL6SlkMUad-ijtV8w/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_iXubq4qBczc/TOkWuZ_p2UI/AAAAAAAAAgU/k0iyJAhSQmE/s1600/sonho.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="200" ox="true" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_iXubq4qBczc/TOkWuZ_p2UI/AAAAAAAAAgU/k0iyJAhSQmE/s200/sonho.jpg" width="196" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Ah, aquele sonho...ainda não foi concretizado. Será que por medo, falta de oportunidades...ou será que o destino é quem quis assim...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;Me diga que um dia aquele sonho será realizado. Que um dia você irá voltar e vai me ajudar a realizar este sonho. Sonho que não sai da minha cabeça e fica pertubando os meus pensamentos, dia após dia.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Não deixe que tudo passe de um sonho...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7982604358912608758-7881084665115817434?l=nilmaruas.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/CaminhandoPelasRuas/~4/bIRs2MtVNg0" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://nilmaruas.blogspot.com/feeds/7881084665115817434/comments/default" title="Postar comentários" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://nilmaruas.blogspot.com/2010/11/ah-aquele-sonho.html#comment-form" title="4 Comentários" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7982604358912608758/posts/default/7881084665115817434?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7982604358912608758/posts/default/7881084665115817434?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/CaminhandoPelasRuas/~3/bIRs2MtVNg0/ah-aquele-sonho.html" title="Ah, aquele sonho..." /><author><name>Nilma Ruas</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14517411796859519447</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="32" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-sN4SPUgXIVM/TX_sap2NvoI/AAAAAAAAAks/T--feEdNp_g/s220/nilma.bmp" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_iXubq4qBczc/TOkWuZ_p2UI/AAAAAAAAAgU/k0iyJAhSQmE/s72-c/sonho.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>4</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://nilmaruas.blogspot.com/2010/11/ah-aquele-sonho.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DkMARHwzeyp7ImA9Wx5aFUQ.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7982604358912608758.post-8979723702641552053</id><published>2010-11-12T18:40:00.000-02:00</published><updated>2010-11-12T18:40:45.283-02:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2010-11-12T18:40:45.283-02:00</app:edited><title>Ainda bem que ninguém sabe o que pensamos</title><content type="html">
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/Abr4rdGH-09V6eOK7mT3J2YTMEQ/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/Abr4rdGH-09V6eOK7mT3J2YTMEQ/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/Abr4rdGH-09V6eOK7mT3J2YTMEQ/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/Abr4rdGH-09V6eOK7mT3J2YTMEQ/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;Acho que Deus&amp;nbsp;pensou muito bem, quando decidiu sobre como deveria ser&amp;nbsp;o pensamento&lt;br /&gt;
Há alguns que podem&amp;nbsp;achar que&amp;nbsp;não, mas eu não tenho dúvida.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Imagina se soubessem o que pensamos. Isso poderia deixar muitos felizes,&amp;nbsp;assim como poderia magoar também, ou ainda&amp;nbsp;deixarem muitos&amp;nbsp;escandalizados.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Você que pensa como eu, sabe do que estou falando&lt;br /&gt;
Não é mesmo....confessa, vai...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7982604358912608758-8979723702641552053?l=nilmaruas.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/CaminhandoPelasRuas/~4/bXXYf-02a88" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://nilmaruas.blogspot.com/feeds/8979723702641552053/comments/default" title="Postar comentários" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://nilmaruas.blogspot.com/2010/11/ainda-bem-que-ninguem-sabe-o-que.html#comment-form" title="0 Comentários" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7982604358912608758/posts/default/8979723702641552053?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7982604358912608758/posts/default/8979723702641552053?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/CaminhandoPelasRuas/~3/bXXYf-02a88/ainda-bem-que-ninguem-sabe-o-que.html" title="Ainda bem que ninguém sabe o que pensamos" /><author><name>Nilma Ruas</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14517411796859519447</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="32" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-sN4SPUgXIVM/TX_sap2NvoI/AAAAAAAAAks/T--feEdNp_g/s220/nilma.bmp" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://nilmaruas.blogspot.com/2010/11/ainda-bem-que-ninguem-sabe-o-que.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CUEHQXozcSp7ImA9Wx5UGEs.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7982604358912608758.post-6769459325915288484</id><published>2010-10-23T10:37:00.001-02:00</published><updated>2010-10-23T17:53:50.489-02:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2010-10-23T17:53:50.489-02:00</app:edited><title>Ele é só meu...</title><content type="html">
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/jbvcK11sxxQBiFoiaojn6PVjFnk/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/jbvcK11sxxQBiFoiaojn6PVjFnk/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/jbvcK11sxxQBiFoiaojn6PVjFnk/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/jbvcK11sxxQBiFoiaojn6PVjFnk/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_iXubq4qBczc/TMLWeN1k-cI/AAAAAAAAAgQ/-XynTcU_PVg/s1600/PENSA.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="200" nx="true" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_iXubq4qBczc/TMLWeN1k-cI/AAAAAAAAAgQ/-XynTcU_PVg/s200/PENSA.jpg" width="180" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Nínguém pode tirá-lo de mim...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"&gt;Ninguém pode vê-lo..&lt;/div&gt;Ninguém pode dominá-lo...&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;Ele é algo que só eu posso&amp;nbsp;dominar...&lt;br /&gt;
Eu tenho poder sobre ele, apenas eu...&lt;br /&gt;
Ele é só&amp;nbsp;meu...&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"&gt;Alguns podem até tentar advinhá-lo...&lt;/div&gt;Mas, &amp;nbsp;meu pensamento... &lt;br /&gt;
É SÓ MEU!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7982604358912608758-6769459325915288484?l=nilmaruas.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/CaminhandoPelasRuas/~4/nFmrbMOTx-4" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://nilmaruas.blogspot.com/feeds/6769459325915288484/comments/default" title="Postar comentários" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://nilmaruas.blogspot.com/2010/10/ele-e-so-meu.html#comment-form" title="2 Comentários" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7982604358912608758/posts/default/6769459325915288484?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7982604358912608758/posts/default/6769459325915288484?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/CaminhandoPelasRuas/~3/nFmrbMOTx-4/ele-e-so-meu.html" title="Ele é só meu..." /><author><name>Nilma Ruas</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14517411796859519447</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="32" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-sN4SPUgXIVM/TX_sap2NvoI/AAAAAAAAAks/T--feEdNp_g/s220/nilma.bmp" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_iXubq4qBczc/TMLWeN1k-cI/AAAAAAAAAgQ/-XynTcU_PVg/s72-c/PENSA.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>2</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://nilmaruas.blogspot.com/2010/10/ele-e-so-meu.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;A0cMSXg4fyp7ImA9Wx5VGUU.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7982604358912608758.post-78485454486203961</id><published>2010-10-11T19:05:00.001-03:00</published><updated>2010-10-13T13:58:08.637-03:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2010-10-13T13:58:08.637-03:00</app:edited><title>Só por hoje...</title><content type="html">
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/nxeyMLNm6dDGz3JrcXt0OWF7344/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/nxeyMLNm6dDGz3JrcXt0OWF7344/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/nxeyMLNm6dDGz3JrcXt0OWF7344/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/nxeyMLNm6dDGz3JrcXt0OWF7344/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_iXubq4qBczc/TLXjx7qT3gI/AAAAAAAAAgM/HOw_q825Eu4/s1600/-sozinha.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" ex="true" height="275" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_iXubq4qBczc/TLXjx7qT3gI/AAAAAAAAAgM/HOw_q825Eu4/s320/-sozinha.jpg" width="320" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Quero deitar-me na minha cama e esquecer de tudo...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Esquecer de que tenho medos&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
De que tenho sonhos e,&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
de que tenho segredos...&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Só por hoje, quero ficar bem quietinha...&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Na minha cama quentinha e,&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Esquecer das minhas dores&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Ignorar o meu coração e,&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Pensar com a razão...&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Só por hoje, quero um pouco de conforto&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Para minha triste alma&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Que sofre com a indecisão&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Preciso dar uma pausa nos meus sonhos&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Livrar-me das angústias do meu coração...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7982604358912608758-78485454486203961?l=nilmaruas.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/CaminhandoPelasRuas/~4/QlVrmdemnPw" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://nilmaruas.blogspot.com/feeds/78485454486203961/comments/default" title="Postar comentários" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://nilmaruas.blogspot.com/2010/10/so-por-hoje.html#comment-form" title="1 Comentários" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7982604358912608758/posts/default/78485454486203961?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7982604358912608758/posts/default/78485454486203961?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/CaminhandoPelasRuas/~3/QlVrmdemnPw/so-por-hoje.html" title="Só por hoje..." /><author><name>Nilma Ruas</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14517411796859519447</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="32" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-sN4SPUgXIVM/TX_sap2NvoI/AAAAAAAAAks/T--feEdNp_g/s220/nilma.bmp" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_iXubq4qBczc/TLXjx7qT3gI/AAAAAAAAAgM/HOw_q825Eu4/s72-c/-sozinha.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>1</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://nilmaruas.blogspot.com/2010/10/so-por-hoje.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DkQGQXg4fCp7ImA9Wx9aFU4.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7982604358912608758.post-5723539229402681451</id><published>2010-10-01T20:36:00.006-03:00</published><updated>2011-03-07T18:45:20.634-03:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-03-07T18:45:20.634-03:00</app:edited><title>Ah...aquele olhar!!!!</title><content type="html">
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/2wV-ABrdjL0LdypJKbXGi_X6AEM/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/2wV-ABrdjL0LdypJKbXGi_X6AEM/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/2wV-ABrdjL0LdypJKbXGi_X6AEM/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/2wV-ABrdjL0LdypJKbXGi_X6AEM/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_iXubq4qBczc/TKZvXFMWY7I/AAAAAAAAAf8/M9Fvfyn0iDo/s1600/olhar.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="161" px="true" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_iXubq4qBczc/TKZvXFMWY7I/AAAAAAAAAf8/M9Fvfyn0iDo/s200/olhar.jpg" width="200" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Foi o&amp;nbsp;seu&amp;nbsp;jeito de olhar para ela, que a deixou fascinada. Um olhar penetrante, devorador...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"&gt;Jacinto, é médico, e, quando a viu pela primeira vez, Marina estava trabalhando, era enfermeira de um hospital. Marina, comprometida, não correspondeu naquele momento.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;Mas, no primeiro momento em que ficou só, seus pensamentos se ascenderam e, ela&amp;nbsp;fantasiou coisas absurdas. Até chegou a sonhar&amp;nbsp;com o dono daquele olhar.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"&gt;Ela precisava vê-lo outra vez, sentir aquela emoção novamente, aquele fascínio. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"&gt;Mas como? Em qual oportunidade? Ela, que&amp;nbsp;já não se aguentava mais de vontade de vê-lo, teve que criar oportunidades para, nem que fosse por alguns minutos, ficar perto&amp;nbsp;do dono daquele olhar.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;Isso a ajudava Marina a&amp;nbsp;viver, a criar ilusões. Era como se&amp;nbsp;precisasse disso para dar sentido a sua vida. Marina precisava de emoção, sentimento que não sentia há anos.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Marina namora há oito anos. Jacinto, também é comprometido há bastante tempo, namora há sete.&amp;nbsp;Marina sabe, mas, ela sabe também, que ele a deseja, e, ele percebe que ela sonha acordada com ele. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Apesar disso,&amp;nbsp;Marina e Jacinto&amp;nbsp;apenas se olham e nada mais.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7982604358912608758-5723539229402681451?l=nilmaruas.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/CaminhandoPelasRuas/~4/W6K6Xz1nZdo" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://nilmaruas.blogspot.com/feeds/5723539229402681451/comments/default" title="Postar comentários" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://nilmaruas.blogspot.com/2010/10/ahaquele-olhar.html#comment-form" title="1 Comentários" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7982604358912608758/posts/default/5723539229402681451?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7982604358912608758/posts/default/5723539229402681451?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/CaminhandoPelasRuas/~3/W6K6Xz1nZdo/ahaquele-olhar.html" title="Ah...aquele olhar!!!!" /><author><name>Nilma Ruas</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14517411796859519447</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="32" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-sN4SPUgXIVM/TX_sap2NvoI/AAAAAAAAAks/T--feEdNp_g/s220/nilma.bmp" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_iXubq4qBczc/TKZvXFMWY7I/AAAAAAAAAf8/M9Fvfyn0iDo/s72-c/olhar.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>1</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://nilmaruas.blogspot.com/2010/10/ahaquele-olhar.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;Dk4NQX48fSp7ImA9Wx5XGE4.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7982604358912608758.post-8282027136490164797</id><published>2010-09-18T15:16:00.004-03:00</published><updated>2010-09-18T15:36:30.075-03:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2010-09-18T15:36:30.075-03:00</app:edited><title>Sonhos de menina</title><content type="html">
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/iHK5nkiVpD_HUornG4EdCecAs2I/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/iHK5nkiVpD_HUornG4EdCecAs2I/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/iHK5nkiVpD_HUornG4EdCecAs2I/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/iHK5nkiVpD_HUornG4EdCecAs2I/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_iXubq4qBczc/TJUF9fVRPTI/AAAAAAAAAf0/r7dZz05C2MA/s1600/A8UEXJ7CA6ZW851CADT0AB5CAH6RK28CAN2SHCTCA0JAQQ3CA2VTT71CA69LW73CABXISD5CAKNJDPUCANDT3XPCAS7T010CA8BM2F3CAF09DMICA2T10O7CAGDF7XDCAJMX6YVCAWPKI9NCAYT0NEN.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="200" qx="true" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_iXubq4qBczc/TJUF9fVRPTI/AAAAAAAAAf0/r7dZz05C2MA/s200/A8UEXJ7CA6ZW851CADT0AB5CAH6RK28CAN2SHCTCA0JAQQ3CA2VTT71CA69LW73CABXISD5CAKNJDPUCANDT3XPCAS7T010CA8BM2F3CAF09DMICA2T10O7CAGDF7XDCAJMX6YVCAWPKI9NCAYT0NEN.jpg" width="132" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
Somos feitos de sonhos...&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Deixamos muitos sonhos esquecidos em algum lugar,&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Em algum tempo no passado&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
E, de vez em quando eles nos trazem saudades...&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Encontrei uma boneca dos sonhos coloridos&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
de alguém que muito amei!&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
É só uma boneca meio esquisita,&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
pouco bonita...&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Mas quero que ela ainda faça alguém sorrir&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
ou chorar, não sei...&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Ela representa mais um sonho que se desfaz&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
para dar lugar à realidade&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Mesmo que pareça tarde...&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Acho que a vida é assim!&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Somos catadores de sonhos&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Um aqui, outro acolá.... e assim vivemos...&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Ou será que assim sonhamos?&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Como é bom sonhar!&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Sonhar com o impossível&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Sonhar acordado deixando o tempo passar&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
E às vezes ser surpreendido&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
pela beleza... a poesia que volta&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Mesmo que seja através de um velho brinquedo:&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Uma velha e nem tão bonita boneca&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"&gt;Que um dia guardou os sonhos&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"&gt;De alguém que foi dona dos meus sonhos...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;nbsp;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"&gt;Eduardo Baqueiro&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7982604358912608758-8282027136490164797?l=nilmaruas.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/CaminhandoPelasRuas/~4/KZcudJhXk-Y" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://nilmaruas.blogspot.com/feeds/8282027136490164797/comments/default" title="Postar comentários" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://nilmaruas.blogspot.com/2010/09/blog-post.html#comment-form" title="2 Comentários" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7982604358912608758/posts/default/8282027136490164797?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7982604358912608758/posts/default/8282027136490164797?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/CaminhandoPelasRuas/~3/KZcudJhXk-Y/blog-post.html" title="Sonhos de menina" /><author><name>Nilma Ruas</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14517411796859519447</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="32" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-sN4SPUgXIVM/TX_sap2NvoI/AAAAAAAAAks/T--feEdNp_g/s220/nilma.bmp" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_iXubq4qBczc/TJUF9fVRPTI/AAAAAAAAAf0/r7dZz05C2MA/s72-c/A8UEXJ7CA6ZW851CADT0AB5CAH6RK28CAN2SHCTCA0JAQQ3CA2VTT71CA69LW73CABXISD5CAKNJDPUCANDT3XPCAS7T010CA8BM2F3CAF09DMICA2T10O7CAGDF7XDCAJMX6YVCAWPKI9NCAYT0NEN.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>2</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://nilmaruas.blogspot.com/2010/09/blog-post.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CUYASX0zfyp7ImA9Wx5XFU0.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7982604358912608758.post-1510933811221776271</id><published>2010-09-12T15:20:00.001-03:00</published><updated>2010-09-14T19:25:48.387-03:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2010-09-14T19:25:48.387-03:00</app:edited><title>Olimpia: beleza e cultura</title><content type="html">
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/WMlR6vx5JjZb3USkgaYyWUr31l0/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/WMlR6vx5JjZb3USkgaYyWUr31l0/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/WMlR6vx5JjZb3USkgaYyWUr31l0/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/WMlR6vx5JjZb3USkgaYyWUr31l0/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"&gt;Em 15 de agosto, deste ano, viajei a Olimpia com minha família para ver o desfile do 46º Festival de Folclore na cidade. Posto aqui, algumas das fotos que fiz durante o encerramento do evento. Grupos de várias cidades e estados participaram.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_iXubq4qBczc/TI0VKP4eWSI/AAAAAAAAAfc/bDKaWbNlSGM/s1600/olimpia+117.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" ox="true" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_iXubq4qBczc/TI0VKP4eWSI/AAAAAAAAAfc/bDKaWbNlSGM/s320/olimpia+117.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_iXubq4qBczc/TI0Uecr_B_I/AAAAAAAAAfM/RFTpQ82jEis/s1600/olimpia+079.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" ox="true" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_iXubq4qBczc/TI0Uecr_B_I/AAAAAAAAAfM/RFTpQ82jEis/s320/olimpia+079.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_iXubq4qBczc/TI0YEoiN9hI/AAAAAAAAAfk/S62OtkOIofY/s1600/olimpia+101.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" ox="true" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_iXubq4qBczc/TI0YEoiN9hI/AAAAAAAAAfk/S62OtkOIofY/s320/olimpia+101.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_iXubq4qBczc/TI0Slm9Z_WI/AAAAAAAAAfE/3QJBSPagc74/s1600/olimpia+123.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" ox="true" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_iXubq4qBczc/TI0Slm9Z_WI/AAAAAAAAAfE/3QJBSPagc74/s320/olimpia+123.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_iXubq4qBczc/TI0Req2pTjI/AAAAAAAAAes/JbKdBqnmauY/s1600/olimpia+065.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" ox="true" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_iXubq4qBczc/TI0Req2pTjI/AAAAAAAAAes/JbKdBqnmauY/s320/olimpia+065.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_iXubq4qBczc/TI0R8IW7KfI/AAAAAAAAAe0/WGRktaioVu8/s1600/olimpia+085.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" ox="true" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_iXubq4qBczc/TI0R8IW7KfI/AAAAAAAAAe0/WGRktaioVu8/s320/olimpia+085.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_iXubq4qBczc/TI0UzgHgVRI/AAAAAAAAAfU/O6EeYBfVLZA/s1600/olimpia+102.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" ox="true" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_iXubq4qBczc/TI0UzgHgVRI/AAAAAAAAAfU/O6EeYBfVLZA/s320/olimpia+102.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_iXubq4qBczc/TI0SRc1j72I/AAAAAAAAAe8/x-0CM3T8gcM/s1600/olimpia+094.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" ox="true" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_iXubq4qBczc/TI0SRc1j72I/AAAAAAAAAe8/x-0CM3T8gcM/s320/olimpia+094.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7982604358912608758-1510933811221776271?l=nilmaruas.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/CaminhandoPelasRuas/~4/UapjlYkiwDQ" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://nilmaruas.blogspot.com/feeds/1510933811221776271/comments/default" title="Postar comentários" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://nilmaruas.blogspot.com/2010/09/olimpia-beleza-e-cultura.html#comment-form" title="0 Comentários" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7982604358912608758/posts/default/1510933811221776271?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7982604358912608758/posts/default/1510933811221776271?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/CaminhandoPelasRuas/~3/UapjlYkiwDQ/olimpia-beleza-e-cultura.html" title="Olimpia: beleza e cultura" /><author><name>Nilma Ruas</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14517411796859519447</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="32" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-sN4SPUgXIVM/TX_sap2NvoI/AAAAAAAAAks/T--feEdNp_g/s220/nilma.bmp" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_iXubq4qBczc/TI0VKP4eWSI/AAAAAAAAAfc/bDKaWbNlSGM/s72-c/olimpia+117.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://nilmaruas.blogspot.com/2010/09/olimpia-beleza-e-cultura.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;D08NQXYyeip7ImA9Wx5XE0w.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7982604358912608758.post-4360229788817761951</id><published>2010-08-27T19:02:00.005-03:00</published><updated>2010-09-12T15:24:50.892-03:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2010-09-12T15:24:50.892-03:00</app:edited><title>Depois de 5 meses sem atualizar o blog</title><content type="html">
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/hjEAh4F1CEZHkKhhACmIj4p12UQ/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/hjEAh4F1CEZHkKhhACmIj4p12UQ/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/hjEAh4F1CEZHkKhhACmIj4p12UQ/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/hjEAh4F1CEZHkKhhACmIj4p12UQ/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"&gt;É, depois de cinco meses sem atualizar o blog. Eis eu aqui ,outra vez, teclando no meu pc.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"&gt;Porque resolvir fazer isso? Ah, digamos que deu saudade de exercitar a escrita, escrever sobre&amp;nbsp;acontecimentos do cotidiano, sobre desvaneios da minha mente...rsrs...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"&gt;Bom, por enquanto é só um aviso, volto ainda este mês, a&amp;nbsp;publicar novas postagens. Estou preparando um post novo, e uma nova cara para este blog. Aguardem!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7982604358912608758-4360229788817761951?l=nilmaruas.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/CaminhandoPelasRuas/~4/BimEd1fnMNM" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://nilmaruas.blogspot.com/feeds/4360229788817761951/comments/default" title="Postar comentários" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://nilmaruas.blogspot.com/2010/08/depois-de-5-meses-sem-atualizar-o-blog.html#comment-form" title="1 Comentários" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7982604358912608758/posts/default/4360229788817761951?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7982604358912608758/posts/default/4360229788817761951?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/CaminhandoPelasRuas/~3/BimEd1fnMNM/depois-de-5-meses-sem-atualizar-o-blog.html" title="Depois de 5 meses sem atualizar o blog" /><author><name>Nilma Ruas</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14517411796859519447</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="32" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-sN4SPUgXIVM/TX_sap2NvoI/AAAAAAAAAks/T--feEdNp_g/s220/nilma.bmp" /></author><thr:total>1</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://nilmaruas.blogspot.com/2010/08/depois-de-5-meses-sem-atualizar-o-blog.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DEEFR307fip7ImA9WxFRF0k.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7982604358912608758.post-8775780025834504618</id><published>2010-03-25T23:40:00.007-03:00</published><updated>2010-05-01T17:43:36.306-03:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2010-05-01T17:43:36.306-03:00</app:edited><title>Uma linda história de amor</title><content type="html">
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&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_iXubq4qBczc/S6weKqx2noI/AAAAAAAAAco/EGi9o6YH73Q/s1600/18.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_iXubq4qBczc/S6weKqx2noI/AAAAAAAAAco/EGi9o6YH73Q/s320/18.jpg" width="264" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Ela, uma jovem de 19 anos, bonita, exuberante, sensível &amp;nbsp;e sonhadora, vivendo em busca da ascensão profissional e do verdadeiro amor. Ele, um homem de 32 anos, bonito, corpo atlético e cheio de&amp;nbsp; experiências de vida, em busca de uma nova companhia.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;De repente, o destino os coloca frente a frente, e eles se apaixonam. Ela fica encantada com aquele homem charmoso, inteligente, e acima de tudo com um corpo invejável. É claro que ele também se encanta por ela, a mocinha tem um corpinho bem desenhado, é meiga e cheia de charme.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;Os dois começam a viver uma louca paixão, aos poucos a paixão vai se transformando num amor cada vez mais tórrido. Os encontros que antes eram semanais passam a ser quase que diários. O casal se encontram, dia sim, dia não, e falam-se todos dias, até duas ou três vezes pelo telefone. E assim foi por mais de 1 ano. Os dois se amavam muito, era muito amor, daqueles que dão um frio na barriga, só de pensar na pessoa amada.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;Mas, o destino que os colocou frente a frente, os separou de repente. Ela, que também sonhava com sua independência financeira, recebeu uma ótima proposta para trabalhar &lt;st1:personname productid="em uma Multinacional" w:st="on"&gt;em uma Multinacional&lt;/st1:personname&gt;, há 200km de distância da cidade onde moravam. Era uma oportunidade única, que ela não queria perder. Aceitou o trabalho e falou com o amado, depois do contrato assinado.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;Quando ele soube, relutou a entender, não queria vê-la, disse que estava tudo acabado, que ela jamais poderia ter feito aquilo sem ter falado com ele. Só que o seu amor por ela era tão grande, que ele não resistiu aos encantos da amada e logo na primeira semana de trabalho foi buscá-la para passar o fim de semana juntos.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;Depois de uma semana separados, quase não se aguentando de saudade, eles se amaram, e se amaram muito, é claro. Fizeram muitas juras de amor. Ele disse a ela que ninguém, nem novas propostas, iriam separá-los novamente.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;Aquele homem que buscava apenas uma mulher para ficar, durante o reencontro com a amada disse:&amp;nbsp; meu amor, eu sei que você busca a estabilidade financeira. Você está certa, eu também busquei a minha,&amp;nbsp; mas não tinha o mais importante, que é o amor. Agora que tenho você, não quero mais perdê-la. Estou bem posicionado na sociedade, o que tenho dá para nós dois sermos muito felizes.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;-Volta comigo para casa, querida!&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7982604358912608758-8775780025834504618?l=nilmaruas.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/CaminhandoPelasRuas/~4/sVlhpWn17qM" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://nilmaruas.blogspot.com/feeds/8775780025834504618/comments/default" title="Postar comentários" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://nilmaruas.blogspot.com/2010/03/uma-linda-historia-de-amor.html#comment-form" title="3 Comentários" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7982604358912608758/posts/default/8775780025834504618?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7982604358912608758/posts/default/8775780025834504618?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/CaminhandoPelasRuas/~3/sVlhpWn17qM/uma-linda-historia-de-amor.html" title="Uma linda história de amor" /><author><name>Nilma Ruas</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14517411796859519447</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="32" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-sN4SPUgXIVM/TX_sap2NvoI/AAAAAAAAAks/T--feEdNp_g/s220/nilma.bmp" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_iXubq4qBczc/S6weKqx2noI/AAAAAAAAAco/EGi9o6YH73Q/s72-c/18.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>3</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://nilmaruas.blogspot.com/2010/03/uma-linda-historia-de-amor.html</feedburner:origLink></entry></feed>

