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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;DE4HR3o9fip7ImA9WhRRFE4.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5385886717283510849</id><updated>2011-11-27T21:35:36.466-02:00</updated><category term="Abuso Infantil." /><category term="Reflexão" /><category term="Humor" /><category term="Sustentabilidade" /><title>Não sou mulher maravilha</title><subtitle type="html" /><link rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://naosouamulhermaravilha.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://naosouamulhermaravilha.blogspot.com/" /><link rel="next" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5385886717283510849/posts/default?start-index=26&amp;max-results=25&amp;redirect=false&amp;v=2" /><author><name>»♥« Ñãö §öµ (/)µ£|-|ë® (/)ä®ä/¡£|-|ä»♥«</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00089043632464125217</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="24" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_105zhn3PhME/SqFSyO2og4I/AAAAAAAAARc/p8amLYPyBfk/S220/Miriam.jpg" /></author><generator version="7.00" uri="http://www.blogger.com">Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>48</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/NoSouMulherMaravilha" /><feedburner:info uri="nosoumulhermaravilha" /><atom10:link xmlns:atom10="http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom" rel="hub" href="http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/" /><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CE4FQ3g8cCp7ImA9WhdTE0Q.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5385886717283510849.post-8665834952753283281</id><published>2011-07-11T11:01:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2011-07-11T11:01:52.678-03:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-07-11T11:01:52.678-03:00</app:edited><title> TV Estadão</title><link rel="related" href="http://estadao.br.msn.com/video/default.aspx?cp-documentid=3d300baf-0eee-416d-b0a2-9b1a8d6f9c69" title=" TV Estadão" /><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://naosouamulhermaravilha.blogspot.com/feeds/8665834952753283281/comments/default" title="Postar comentários" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://naosouamulhermaravilha.blogspot.com/2011/07/tv-estadao.html#comment-form" title="0 Comentários" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5385886717283510849/posts/default/8665834952753283281?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5385886717283510849/posts/default/8665834952753283281?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/NoSouMulherMaravilha/~3/frfMNyvrIfc/tv-estadao.html" title=" TV Estadão" /><author><name>»♥« Ñãö §öµ (/)µ£|-|ë® (/)ä®ä/¡£|-|ä»♥«</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00089043632464125217</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="24" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_105zhn3PhME/SqFSyO2og4I/AAAAAAAAARc/p8amLYPyBfk/S220/Miriam.jpg" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><content type="html"> TV Estadão
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/wL_pklWxvoEOF-izxGf8Y7_uiDk/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/wL_pklWxvoEOF-izxGf8Y7_uiDk/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/NoSouMulherMaravilha/~4/frfMNyvrIfc" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://naosouamulhermaravilha.blogspot.com/2011/07/tv-estadao.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CEADQns9eyp7ImA9WhdTEEg.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5385886717283510849.post-3077125972744317464</id><published>2011-07-07T12:32:00.001-03:00</published><updated>2011-07-07T12:32:53.563-03:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-07-07T12:32:53.563-03:00</app:edited><title>Tristeza!</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://naosouamulhermaravilha.blogspot.com/feeds/3077125972744317464/comments/default" title="Postar comentários" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://naosouamulhermaravilha.blogspot.com/2011/07/tristeza.html#comment-form" title="0 Comentários" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5385886717283510849/posts/default/3077125972744317464?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5385886717283510849/posts/default/3077125972744317464?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/NoSouMulherMaravilha/~3/KNo_M9qhFD4/tristeza.html" title="Tristeza!" /><author><name>»♥« Ñãö §öµ (/)µ£|-|ë® (/)ä®ä/¡£|-|ä»♥«</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00089043632464125217</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="24" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_105zhn3PhME/SqFSyO2og4I/AAAAAAAAARc/p8amLYPyBfk/S220/Miriam.jpg" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><content type="html">Hoje me sinto muito triste, em nossa vida acontecem coisas que achamos que não merecemos  passar, mais Deus sabe de todas as coisas, e se não fosse para passar por certas coisas Deus não permitiria!
Deus entrego tudo a ti, que seja feita a tua vontade e não a minha! Conheces meu coração e minha vontade e te peço perdão!
Que teus sonhos se realizem em minha vida pai!
Beijos a todos que me 
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/IP5bk0nlow_2yJurT97JC3s5yCo/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/IP5bk0nlow_2yJurT97JC3s5yCo/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/IP5bk0nlow_2yJurT97JC3s5yCo/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/IP5bk0nlow_2yJurT97JC3s5yCo/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/NoSouMulherMaravilha/~4/KNo_M9qhFD4" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://naosouamulhermaravilha.blogspot.com/2011/07/tristeza.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CEMEQ3g6fip7ImA9WhdTEEg.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5385886717283510849.post-2975598838495710505</id><published>2011-07-07T12:26:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2011-07-07T12:26:42.616-03:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-07-07T12:26:42.616-03:00</app:edited><title /><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://naosouamulhermaravilha.blogspot.com/feeds/2975598838495710505/comments/default" title="Postar comentários" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://naosouamulhermaravilha.blogspot.com/2011/07/vaidade-deforma-alegria-e-tristeza-as.html#comment-form" title="0 Comentários" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5385886717283510849/posts/default/2975598838495710505?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5385886717283510849/posts/default/2975598838495710505?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/NoSouMulherMaravilha/~3/oZ0C1VvYN40/vaidade-deforma-alegria-e-tristeza-as.html" title="" /><author><name>»♥« Ñãö §öµ (/)µ£|-|ë® (/)ä®ä/¡£|-|ä»♥«</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00089043632464125217</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="24" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_105zhn3PhME/SqFSyO2og4I/AAAAAAAAARc/p8amLYPyBfk/S220/Miriam.jpg" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><content type="html">A Vaidade Deforma a Alegria e a TristezaAs virtudes humanas muitas vezes se compõem de melancolia, e de um retiro agreste. As mais das vezes é humor o que julgamos razão; é temperamento o que chamamos desengano; e é enfermidade o que nos parece virtude. Tudo são efeitos da tristeza; esta obriga-nos a seguir os partidos mais violentos, e mais duros; raras vezes nos faz reflectir sobre o passado, 
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/VaTdLmRCE9uC0gaBp1VKAMxo_7s/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/VaTdLmRCE9uC0gaBp1VKAMxo_7s/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/NoSouMulherMaravilha/~4/oZ0C1VvYN40" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://naosouamulhermaravilha.blogspot.com/2011/07/vaidade-deforma-alegria-e-tristeza-as.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;C0EGRHg_cCp7ImA9WhdTEEg.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5385886717283510849.post-8958912215929695200</id><published>2011-07-07T12:13:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2011-07-07T12:13:45.648-03:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-07-07T12:13:45.648-03:00</app:edited><title /><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://naosouamulhermaravilha.blogspot.com/feeds/8958912215929695200/comments/default" title="Postar comentários" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://naosouamulhermaravilha.blogspot.com/2011/07/teus-olhos-entristecem-teus-olhos.html#comment-form" title="0 Comentários" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5385886717283510849/posts/default/8958912215929695200?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5385886717283510849/posts/default/8958912215929695200?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/NoSouMulherMaravilha/~3/sR_4SIsK1ng/teus-olhos-entristecem-teus-olhos.html" title="" /><author><name>»♥« Ñãö §öµ (/)µ£|-|ë® (/)ä®ä/¡£|-|ä»♥«</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00089043632464125217</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="24" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_105zhn3PhME/SqFSyO2og4I/AAAAAAAAARc/p8amLYPyBfk/S220/Miriam.jpg" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><content type="html">Teus Olhos EntristecemTeus olhos entristecem Nem ouves o que digo. Dormem, sonham esquecem... Não me ouves, e prossigo. Digo o que já, de triste, Te disse tanta vez... Creio que nunca o ouviste De tão tua que és. Olhas-me de repente De um distante impreciso Com um olhar ausente. Começas um sorriso. Continuo a falar. Continuas ouvindo O que estás a pensar, Já quase não sorrindo. Até que neste 
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/z6IxJ1ZtoGumIEJVlfwa4PyEK4s/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/z6IxJ1ZtoGumIEJVlfwa4PyEK4s/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/NoSouMulherMaravilha/~4/sR_4SIsK1ng" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://naosouamulhermaravilha.blogspot.com/2011/07/teus-olhos-entristecem-teus-olhos.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DUADSXkzeSp7ImA9WhZWGE4.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5385886717283510849.post-3536297021178234138</id><published>2011-05-19T17:42:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2011-05-19T17:42:58.781-03:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-05-19T17:42:58.781-03:00</app:edited><title>Quais são suas habilidades????? Onde você tem usado???</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://naosouamulhermaravilha.blogspot.com/feeds/3536297021178234138/comments/default" title="Postar comentários" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://naosouamulhermaravilha.blogspot.com/2011/05/quais-sao-suas-habilidades-onde-voce.html#comment-form" title="0 Comentários" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5385886717283510849/posts/default/3536297021178234138?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5385886717283510849/posts/default/3536297021178234138?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/NoSouMulherMaravilha/~3/EgV0YZNaavE/quais-sao-suas-habilidades-onde-voce.html" title="Quais são suas habilidades????? Onde você tem usado???" /><author><name>»♥« Ñãö §öµ (/)µ£|-|ë® (/)ä®ä/¡£|-|ä»♥«</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00089043632464125217</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="24" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_105zhn3PhME/SqFSyO2og4I/AAAAAAAAARc/p8amLYPyBfk/S220/Miriam.jpg" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><content type="html">


Uma mãe e um bebê camelo estavam por ali, à toa, quando de repente o bebê camelo perguntou: 
- Mãe, mãe, posso te perguntar umas coisas? 
- Claro! O que está incomodando o meu filhote? 
- Por que os camelos têm corcova? 
- Bem, meu filhinho, nos somos animais do deserto, precisamos das corcovas para reservar água e por isso mesmo somos conhecidos por sobreviver sem água. 
- Certo, e por que 
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/OFcrKxHs-rW41zBP_RFrb72oT9c/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/OFcrKxHs-rW41zBP_RFrb72oT9c/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/NoSouMulherMaravilha/~4/EgV0YZNaavE" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://naosouamulhermaravilha.blogspot.com/2011/05/quais-sao-suas-habilidades-onde-voce.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CUYGSHw4fSp7ImA9WhZXEEU.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5385886717283510849.post-5289961183437671556</id><published>2011-04-13T10:27:00.001-03:00</published><updated>2011-04-29T10:18:49.235-03:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-04-29T10:18:49.235-03:00</app:edited><title /><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://naosouamulhermaravilha.blogspot.com/feeds/5289961183437671556/comments/default" title="Postar comentários" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://naosouamulhermaravilha.blogspot.com/2011/04/onde-voce-coloca-o-sal-o-velho-mestre.html#comment-form" title="0 Comentários" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5385886717283510849/posts/default/5289961183437671556?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5385886717283510849/posts/default/5289961183437671556?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/NoSouMulherMaravilha/~3/Y8WLpB9FW-c/onde-voce-coloca-o-sal-o-velho-mestre.html" title="" /><author><name>»♥« Ñãö §öµ (/)µ£|-|ë® (/)ä®ä/¡£|-|ä»♥«</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00089043632464125217</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="24" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_105zhn3PhME/SqFSyO2og4I/AAAAAAAAARc/p8amLYPyBfk/S220/Miriam.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-5YKU-6zmFBg/Tbq5ue3_JrI/AAAAAAAAAXE/za-_1a1xZ7Y/s72-c/lago.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>0</thr:total><content type="html">
  
Onde você coloca o sal?

O velho Mestre pediu a um jovem triste que colocasse uma mão cheia de sal em um copo d'água e bebesse.
Qual é o gosto? - perguntou o Mestre.
Ruim - disse o aprendiz.
O Mestre sorriu e pediu ao jovem que pegasse outra mão cheia de sal e levasse a um lago.
Os dois caminharam em silêncio e o jovem jogou o sal no lago.
Então o velho disse:
- Beba um pouco dessa água.

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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/AF3hSMOLT21zm2QlvRv4JsSmUVE/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/AF3hSMOLT21zm2QlvRv4JsSmUVE/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/NoSouMulherMaravilha/~4/Y8WLpB9FW-c" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://naosouamulhermaravilha.blogspot.com/2011/04/onde-voce-coloca-o-sal-o-velho-mestre.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;C04DRHc8eCp7ImA9WhZSFE0.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5385886717283510849.post-3704504949808095235</id><published>2011-03-29T09:32:00.001-03:00</published><updated>2011-03-29T09:32:55.970-03:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-03-29T09:32:55.970-03:00</app:edited><title /><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://naosouamulhermaravilha.blogspot.com/feeds/3704504949808095235/comments/default" title="Postar comentários" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://naosouamulhermaravilha.blogspot.com/2011/03/contar-ate-dez-existem-momentos-em-que.html#comment-form" title="0 Comentários" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5385886717283510849/posts/default/3704504949808095235?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5385886717283510849/posts/default/3704504949808095235?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/NoSouMulherMaravilha/~3/0n8Jz9R-yaU/contar-ate-dez-existem-momentos-em-que.html" title="" /><author><name>»♥« Ñãö §öµ (/)µ£|-|ë® (/)ä®ä/¡£|-|ä»♥«</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00089043632464125217</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="24" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_105zhn3PhME/SqFSyO2og4I/AAAAAAAAARc/p8amLYPyBfk/S220/Miriam.jpg" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><content type="html">

Contar até Dez
Existem momentos em que nós precisamos fechar os olhos e contar até dez.Minha conta passou, e muito, dos dez; e ainda estou lutando contra aquele incômodo sentimento de raiva.Tento dizer para mim mesmo que ela é infundada; tento me fazer compreender que não tenho sequer o direito de carregá-la em meu coração.Mas não adianta. Há coisas que nos incomodam tanto que a razão não tem 
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/IFDQng17eej9EmtwJ3qUJbcEi8s/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/IFDQng17eej9EmtwJ3qUJbcEi8s/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/NoSouMulherMaravilha/~4/0n8Jz9R-yaU" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://naosouamulhermaravilha.blogspot.com/2011/03/contar-ate-dez-existem-momentos-em-que.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CkMCRHw9fyp7ImA9WhZSFE0.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5385886717283510849.post-8079160262053774575</id><published>2011-03-29T09:07:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2011-03-29T09:07:45.267-03:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-03-29T09:07:45.267-03:00</app:edited><title /><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://naosouamulhermaravilha.blogspot.com/feeds/8079160262053774575/comments/default" title="Postar comentários" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://naosouamulhermaravilha.blogspot.com/2011/03/pedra-bruta-o-discipulo-conhece-o.html#comment-form" title="0 Comentários" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5385886717283510849/posts/default/8079160262053774575?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5385886717283510849/posts/default/8079160262053774575?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/NoSouMulherMaravilha/~3/bD2NZpPmgWM/pedra-bruta-o-discipulo-conhece-o.html" title="" /><author><name>»♥« Ñãö §öµ (/)µ£|-|ë® (/)ä®ä/¡£|-|ä»♥«</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00089043632464125217</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="24" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_105zhn3PhME/SqFSyO2og4I/AAAAAAAAARc/p8amLYPyBfk/S220/Miriam.jpg" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><content type="html">
Pedra Bruta
O discípulo conhece o Mestre.Naquele momento o discípulo nada mais é do que uma pedra bruta a ser lapidada.Perdido e tentando se encontrar, o Mestre tem o papel de desvendar o aluno.Desmontar pedaço por pedaço. Procurar por danos reparáveis. Outros, que podem ser escondidos.O aluno é denso, o mestre leve como uma pluma.O mestre descobre todas as fraquezas e medos do discípulo. Então 
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/1wc8Wjw9xQmhRXO4qo9Ji1ti-ng/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/1wc8Wjw9xQmhRXO4qo9Ji1ti-ng/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/NoSouMulherMaravilha/~4/bD2NZpPmgWM" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://naosouamulhermaravilha.blogspot.com/2011/03/pedra-bruta-o-discipulo-conhece-o.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CkIBSXkyeyp7ImA9WhZSFE0.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5385886717283510849.post-6502021042132130713</id><published>2011-03-29T08:30:00.004-03:00</published><updated>2011-03-29T09:09:18.793-03:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-03-29T09:09:18.793-03:00</app:edited><title /><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://naosouamulhermaravilha.blogspot.com/feeds/6502021042132130713/comments/default" title="Postar comentários" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://naosouamulhermaravilha.blogspot.com/2011/03/quem-conhece-historia-de-azrael-bem.html#comment-form" title="0 Comentários" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5385886717283510849/posts/default/6502021042132130713?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5385886717283510849/posts/default/6502021042132130713?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/NoSouMulherMaravilha/~3/DPJzsxYnp6Q/quem-conhece-historia-de-azrael-bem.html" title="" /><author><name>»♥« Ñãö §öµ (/)µ£|-|ë® (/)ä®ä/¡£|-|ä»♥«</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00089043632464125217</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="24" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_105zhn3PhME/SqFSyO2og4I/AAAAAAAAARc/p8amLYPyBfk/S220/Miriam.jpg" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><content type="html">
Quem conhece a história de Azrael?Bem, Azrael foi um anjo que abandonou a Deus, lançando-se ao pecado. Como punição, Deus o mandou para o Purgatório.Depois de muito tempo, os anjos pediram que Deus tirasse Azrael do purgatório, porém o Todo-Poderoso se recusou.Então os anjos desceram ao Purgatório e levaram Azrael para o Paraíso.Enfurecido, Deus perguntou porque eles tinham feito tal coisa.A 
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/Ob1quNUUmnMlx3Qrk97bpa2KsdI/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/Ob1quNUUmnMlx3Qrk97bpa2KsdI/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/NoSouMulherMaravilha/~4/DPJzsxYnp6Q" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://naosouamulhermaravilha.blogspot.com/2011/03/quem-conhece-historia-de-azrael-bem.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DUIEQXc-cCp7ImA9WxFQEEs.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5385886717283510849.post-9215915856902486295</id><published>2010-05-05T10:51:00.002-03:00</published><updated>2010-05-05T10:51:40.958-03:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2010-05-05T10:51:40.958-03:00</app:edited><title /><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://naosouamulhermaravilha.blogspot.com/feeds/9215915856902486295/comments/default" title="Postar comentários" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://naosouamulhermaravilha.blogspot.com/2010/05/venca-seu-medo-numa-terra-em-guerra.html#comment-form" title="0 Comentários" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5385886717283510849/posts/default/9215915856902486295?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5385886717283510849/posts/default/9215915856902486295?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/NoSouMulherMaravilha/~3/CoaSAYmUxoo/venca-seu-medo-numa-terra-em-guerra.html" title="" /><author><name>»♥« Ñãö §öµ (/)µ£|-|ë® (/)ä®ä/¡£|-|ä»♥«</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00089043632464125217</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="24" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_105zhn3PhME/SqFSyO2og4I/AAAAAAAAARc/p8amLYPyBfk/S220/Miriam.jpg" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><content type="html">
 VENÇA SEU MEDO

   Numa terra em guerra havia um rei que causava espanto. Sempre que fazia prisioneiros, não os matava: Levava-os a uma sala onde havia um arqueiro do lado de uma imensa porta de ferro, sobre a qual viam-se gravadas figuras de caveiras cobertas por sangue. Nesta sala ele os fazia enfileirar-se em círculo e dizia-lhes então:
  - Vocês podem escolher entre morrer a flechadas por 
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/Q2PlT9K0g1txF79qBHk1zNAp69s/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/Q2PlT9K0g1txF79qBHk1zNAp69s/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/NoSouMulherMaravilha/~4/CoaSAYmUxoo" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://naosouamulhermaravilha.blogspot.com/2010/05/venca-seu-medo-numa-terra-em-guerra.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DEQBR3Y8eSp7ImA9WxFRGUQ.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5385886717283510849.post-2079394516644631539</id><published>2010-05-04T15:01:00.005-03:00</published><updated>2010-05-04T15:05:56.871-03:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2010-05-04T15:05:56.871-03:00</app:edited><title /><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://naosouamulhermaravilha.blogspot.com/feeds/2079394516644631539/comments/default" title="Postar comentários" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://naosouamulhermaravilha.blogspot.com/2010/05/as-quatro-velas-quatro-velas-estavam.html#comment-form" title="0 Comentários" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5385886717283510849/posts/default/2079394516644631539?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5385886717283510849/posts/default/2079394516644631539?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/NoSouMulherMaravilha/~3/E3xNl3uSkfw/as-quatro-velas-quatro-velas-estavam.html" title="" /><author><name>»♥« Ñãö §öµ (/)µ£|-|ë® (/)ä®ä/¡£|-|ä»♥«</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00089043632464125217</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="24" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_105zhn3PhME/SqFSyO2og4I/AAAAAAAAARc/p8amLYPyBfk/S220/Miriam.jpg" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><content type="html">AS QUATRO VELAS 
   Quatro velas estavam queimando calmamente.
  A primeira disse:
   - Eu sou a Paz e, apesar da minha luz, as pessoas
  não conseguem manter-me acesa. 
   Em seguida, a sua chama, devagarinho, se apagou totalmente.
   A segunda disse:
   - Eu me chamo Fé! Infelizmente, sou supérflua para as pessoas. Elas não querem saber de Deus... Por isso, não faz sentido continuar queimando.

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Se um dia, ao acordar, você encontrasse, ao lado da sua cama, um lindo pacote embrulhado com fitas coloridas, o que você iria fazer? Possivelmente você o abriria, antes mesmo de lavar o rosto... 

Talvez houvesse ali algo de que você nem gostasse muito... Então você guardaria a caixa, pensando no que fazer com aquele presente aparentemente inútil... Mas no dia seguinte, porém, lá 
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/BIFLqLOGMUhQFrHSPS6iNBwgQdk/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/BIFLqLOGMUhQFrHSPS6iNBwgQdk/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/NoSouMulherMaravilha/~4/C4xOtfmyDr8" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://naosouamulhermaravilha.blogspot.com/2010/05/o-presente-se-um-dia-ao-acordar-voce.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;D0AHSHg7cCp7ImA9WxNQFkk.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5385886717283510849.post-8817660498311998262</id><published>2009-09-22T15:54:00.003-03:00</published><updated>2009-09-22T15:55:39.608-03:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-09-22T15:55:39.608-03:00</app:edited><title /><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://naosouamulhermaravilha.blogspot.com/feeds/8817660498311998262/comments/default" title="Postar comentários" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://naosouamulhermaravilha.blogspot.com/2009/09/podemos-acreditar-que-tudo-que-vida-nos.html#comment-form" title="0 Comentários" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5385886717283510849/posts/default/8817660498311998262?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5385886717283510849/posts/default/8817660498311998262?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/NoSouMulherMaravilha/~3/kC-6KRyby8M/podemos-acreditar-que-tudo-que-vida-nos.html" title="" /><author><name>»♥« Ñãö §öµ (/)µ£|-|ë® (/)ä®ä/¡£|-|ä»♥«</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00089043632464125217</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="24" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_105zhn3PhME/SqFSyO2og4I/AAAAAAAAARc/p8amLYPyBfk/S220/Miriam.jpg" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><content type="html">Podemos acreditar que tudo que a vida nos oferecerá no futuro é repetir o que fizemos ontem e hoje. Mas, se prestarmos atenção, vamos nos dar conta de que nenhum dia é igual a outro. Cada manhã traz uma benção escondida; uma benção que só serve para esse dia e que não se pode guardar nem desaproveitar.
Se não usamos este milagre hoje, ele vai se perder.
Este milagre está nos detalhes do cotidiano
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/iDZjYQrvdUPdoGy_0A0RCcbiPvE/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/iDZjYQrvdUPdoGy_0A0RCcbiPvE/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/NoSouMulherMaravilha/~4/kC-6KRyby8M" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://naosouamulhermaravilha.blogspot.com/2009/09/podemos-acreditar-que-tudo-que-vida-nos.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;Dk8BSXk8fCp7ImA9WxNSGE8.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5385886717283510849.post-6309475249177008639</id><published>2009-09-01T14:06:00.001-03:00</published><updated>2009-09-01T14:07:38.774-03:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-09-01T14:07:38.774-03:00</app:edited><title>Crônica do Amor</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://naosouamulhermaravilha.blogspot.com/feeds/6309475249177008639/comments/default" title="Postar comentários" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://naosouamulhermaravilha.blogspot.com/2009/09/cronica-do-amor-ninguem-ama-outra.html#comment-form" title="0 Comentários" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5385886717283510849/posts/default/6309475249177008639?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5385886717283510849/posts/default/6309475249177008639?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/NoSouMulherMaravilha/~3/Ys_65i7id88/cronica-do-amor-ninguem-ama-outra.html" title="Crônica do Amor" /><author><name>»♥« Ñãö §öµ (/)µ£|-|ë® (/)ä®ä/¡£|-|ä»♥«</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00089043632464125217</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="24" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_105zhn3PhME/SqFSyO2og4I/AAAAAAAAARc/p8amLYPyBfk/S220/Miriam.jpg" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><content type="html">Ninguém ama outra pessoa pelas qualidades que ela tem, caso contrário os honestos, simpáticos e não fumantes teriam uma fila de pretendentes batendo a porta.O amor não é chegado a fazer contas, não obedece à razão. O verdadeiro amor acontece por empatia, por magnetismo, por conjunção estelar.Ninguém ama outra pessoa porque ela é educada, veste-se bem e é fã do Caetano. Isso são só 
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/TVn9kis9TY7XhqnmRHQLDj_s700/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/TVn9kis9TY7XhqnmRHQLDj_s700/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/NoSouMulherMaravilha/~4/Ys_65i7id88" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://naosouamulhermaravilha.blogspot.com/2009/09/cronica-do-amor-ninguem-ama-outra.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DUMCSXw_eSp7ImA9WxNTGUk.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5385886717283510849.post-6338454346246967931</id><published>2009-08-22T10:24:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2009-08-22T10:24:28.241-03:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-08-22T10:24:28.241-03:00</app:edited><title /><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://naosouamulhermaravilha.blogspot.com/feeds/6338454346246967931/comments/default" title="Postar comentários" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://naosouamulhermaravilha.blogspot.com/2009/08/oi-pessoal-tudo-bem-com-vcs-espero-que.html#comment-form" title="0 Comentários" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5385886717283510849/posts/default/6338454346246967931?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5385886717283510849/posts/default/6338454346246967931?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/NoSouMulherMaravilha/~3/Rl3v9yQ5p1k/oi-pessoal-tudo-bem-com-vcs-espero-que.html" title="" /><author><name>»♥« Ñãö §öµ (/)µ£|-|ë® (/)ä®ä/¡£|-|ä»♥«</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00089043632464125217</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="24" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_105zhn3PhME/SqFSyO2og4I/AAAAAAAAARc/p8amLYPyBfk/S220/Miriam.jpg" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><content type="html">Oi pessoal tudo bem com vcs?
Espero que sim, desejo a todos um otimo fds...
Beijosss carinhosos....e obrigada!
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/0qcRKqaQM1zjY6g19HDMUGMzNbs/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/0qcRKqaQM1zjY6g19HDMUGMzNbs/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/NoSouMulherMaravilha/~4/OdhYzC8UToA" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://naosouamulhermaravilha.blogspot.com/2009/08/blog-post.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DUQBSXk4fip7ImA9WxNTGEo.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5385886717283510849.post-1175953551221534936</id><published>2009-08-21T14:55:00.001-03:00</published><updated>2009-08-21T14:55:58.736-03:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-08-21T14:55:58.736-03:00</app:edited><title /><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://naosouamulhermaravilha.blogspot.com/feeds/1175953551221534936/comments/default" title="Postar comentários" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://naosouamulhermaravilha.blogspot.com/2009/08/as-circunstancias-entre-as-quais-voce.html#comment-form" title="0 Comentários" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5385886717283510849/posts/default/1175953551221534936?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5385886717283510849/posts/default/1175953551221534936?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/NoSouMulherMaravilha/~3/8soyRUSJFHU/as-circunstancias-entre-as-quais-voce.html" title="" /><author><name>»♥« Ñãö §öµ (/)µ£|-|ë® (/)ä®ä/¡£|-|ä»♥«</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00089043632464125217</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="24" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_105zhn3PhME/SqFSyO2og4I/AAAAAAAAARc/p8amLYPyBfk/S220/Miriam.jpg" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><content type="html">As circunstâncias entre as quais você vive determinam sua reputação. A verdade em que você acredita determina seu caráter. A reputação é o que acham que você é. O caráter é o que você realmente é... A reputação é o que você tem quando chega a uma comunidade nova. O caráter é o que você tem quando vai embora... A reputação é feita em um momento. O caráter é construído em uma vida inteira... A 
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Arnaldo Jabor
Ah! Se vendessem paciência nas farmácias e supermercados... Muita gente iria gastar boa parte do salário nessa mercadoria tão rara hoje em dia.

Por muito pouco a madame que parece uma lady solta palavrões e berros que lembram as antigas trabalhadoras do cais... E o bem comportado executivo? O cavalheiro se transforma numa besta selvagem no trânsito que ele mesmo ajuda a 
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/8mwaGqyp5qT_153zzNf1iqz5PkY/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/8mwaGqyp5qT_153zzNf1iqz5PkY/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/NoSouMulherMaravilha/~4/kbmf6-K1sKU" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://naosouamulhermaravilha.blogspot.com/2009/08/paciencia-arnaldo-jabor-ah-se-vendessem.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DkMNQnw4fip7ImA9WxJbFkw.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5385886717283510849.post-789212481707186414</id><published>2009-07-26T10:16:00.003-03:00</published><updated>2009-07-26T10:21:33.236-03:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-07-26T10:21:33.236-03:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Reflexão" /><title>Mude</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://naosouamulhermaravilha.blogspot.com/feeds/789212481707186414/comments/default" title="Postar comentários" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://naosouamulhermaravilha.blogspot.com/2009/07/mude.html#comment-form" title="0 Comentários" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5385886717283510849/posts/default/789212481707186414?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5385886717283510849/posts/default/789212481707186414?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/NoSouMulherMaravilha/~3/zSRHkk-5fE8/mude.html" title="Mude" /><author><name>»♥« Ñãö §öµ (/)µ£|-|ë® (/)ä®ä/¡£|-|ä»♥«</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00089043632464125217</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="24" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_105zhn3PhME/SqFSyO2og4I/AAAAAAAAARc/p8amLYPyBfk/S220/Miriam.jpg" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><content type="html">MudeMude, mas comece devagar, porque a direção é mais importante que a velocidade.Sente-se em outra cadeira, no outro lado da mesa.Mais tarde, mude de mesa.Quando sair, procure andar pelo outro lado da rua.Depois, mude de caminho, ande por outras ruas, calmamente, observando com atenção os lugares por onde você passa.Tome outros ônibus. Mude por uns tempos o estilo das roupas.Dê os teus sapatos 
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/2LPPDEc2TJFhScQW794HN5JPwsw/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/2LPPDEc2TJFhScQW794HN5JPwsw/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/NoSouMulherMaravilha/~4/zSRHkk-5fE8" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://naosouamulhermaravilha.blogspot.com/2009/07/mude.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;C08FSX4_eSp7ImA9WxJbFUk.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5385886717283510849.post-6199313508849190184</id><published>2009-07-25T14:09:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2009-07-25T14:10:18.041-03:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-07-25T14:10:18.041-03:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Abuso Infantil." /><title /><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://naosouamulhermaravilha.blogspot.com/feeds/6199313508849190184/comments/default" title="Postar comentários" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://naosouamulhermaravilha.blogspot.com/2009/07/blog-post.html#comment-form" title="0 Comentários" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5385886717283510849/posts/default/6199313508849190184?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5385886717283510849/posts/default/6199313508849190184?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/NoSouMulherMaravilha/~3/iirA_tMgKUo/blog-post.html" title="" /><author><name>»♥« Ñãö §öµ (/)µ£|-|ë® (/)ä®ä/¡£|-|ä»♥«</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00089043632464125217</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="24" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_105zhn3PhME/SqFSyO2og4I/AAAAAAAAARc/p8amLYPyBfk/S220/Miriam.jpg" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><content type="html">
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/rn9XLz2hRyJ3r-K7N89kcwJA2Hg/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/rn9XLz2hRyJ3r-K7N89kcwJA2Hg/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/NoSouMulherMaravilha/~4/iirA_tMgKUo" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://naosouamulhermaravilha.blogspot.com/2009/07/blog-post.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DkENQXs8fSp7ImA9WxJbFUg.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5385886717283510849.post-183618914752440547</id><published>2009-07-25T13:36:00.004-03:00</published><updated>2009-07-25T17:44:50.575-03:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-07-25T17:44:50.575-03:00</app:edited><title /><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://naosouamulhermaravilha.blogspot.com/feeds/183618914752440547/comments/default" title="Postar comentários" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://naosouamulhermaravilha.blogspot.com/2009/07/96-das-mulheres-gostam-ou-amam-seus.html#comment-form" title="0 Comentários" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5385886717283510849/posts/default/183618914752440547?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5385886717283510849/posts/default/183618914752440547?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/NoSouMulherMaravilha/~3/apJ3YKsQFjY/96-das-mulheres-gostam-ou-amam-seus.html" title="" /><author><name>»♥« Ñãö §öµ (/)µ£|-|ë® (/)ä®ä/¡£|-|ä»♥«</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00089043632464125217</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="24" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_105zhn3PhME/SqFSyO2og4I/AAAAAAAAARc/p8amLYPyBfk/S220/Miriam.jpg" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><content type="html">96% das mulheres 'gostam' ou 'amam' seus computadores96% das mulheres que trabalham em escritórios nos EUA disseram "gostar" ou "amar" seus computadores. É o que indica uma pesquisa realizada pela Harris Interactive para a Wellgate for Women. Em média, uma mulher com este perfil passa mais tempo com seu computador (mais de 9 horas por dia) do que com seu namorado ou marido (3,6 horas diárias).As 
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/JrwKqtH3l5tFWoxCp69EmYLrFIg/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/JrwKqtH3l5tFWoxCp69EmYLrFIg/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/NoSouMulherMaravilha/~4/apJ3YKsQFjY" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://naosouamulhermaravilha.blogspot.com/2009/07/96-das-mulheres-gostam-ou-amam-seus.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CUIERXg5eCp7ImA9WxJbFU8.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5385886717283510849.post-4194406262209943579</id><published>2009-07-25T08:59:00.001-03:00</published><updated>2009-07-25T09:05:04.620-03:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-07-25T09:05:04.620-03:00</app:edited><title /><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://naosouamulhermaravilha.blogspot.com/feeds/4194406262209943579/comments/default" title="Postar comentários" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://naosouamulhermaravilha.blogspot.com/2009/07/torne-se-o-ceano-diz-se-que-mesmo-antes.html#comment-form" title="0 Comentários" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5385886717283510849/posts/default/4194406262209943579?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5385886717283510849/posts/default/4194406262209943579?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/NoSouMulherMaravilha/~3/9x1vrJFU3sM/torne-se-o-ceano-diz-se-que-mesmo-antes.html" title="" /><author><name>»♥« Ñãö §öµ (/)µ£|-|ë® (/)ä®ä/¡£|-|ä»♥«</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00089043632464125217</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="24" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_105zhn3PhME/SqFSyO2og4I/AAAAAAAAARc/p8amLYPyBfk/S220/Miriam.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_105zhn3PhME/Smr0gGrBebI/AAAAAAAAAPc/PisNppLFeHc/s72-c/oceano.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>0</thr:total><content type="html">Torne-se OceanoDiz-se que, mesmo antes de um rio cair no oceano, ele treme de medo.Olha para trás, para toda a jornada: os cumes, as montanhas, o longo caminho sinuoso através das florestas, através dos povoados, e vê a sua frente um oceano tão vasto que entrar nele nada mais é do que desaparecer para sempre.Mas não há outra maneira.O rio não pode voltar. Ninguém pode voltar.Voltar é impossível 
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/bl2vxV0Bgi9Y0uX2TnM9LBGxcFQ/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/bl2vxV0Bgi9Y0uX2TnM9LBGxcFQ/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/NoSouMulherMaravilha/~4/9x1vrJFU3sM" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://naosouamulhermaravilha.blogspot.com/2009/07/torne-se-o-ceano-diz-se-que-mesmo-antes.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;A04CRHk4eSp7ImA9WxJUGEk.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5385886717283510849.post-2771320322892863611</id><published>2009-07-17T13:46:00.005-03:00</published><updated>2009-07-17T13:59:25.731-03:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-07-17T13:59:25.731-03:00</app:edited><title /><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://naosouamulhermaravilha.blogspot.com/feeds/2771320322892863611/comments/default" title="Postar comentários" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://naosouamulhermaravilha.blogspot.com/2009/07/quando-parece-que-o-problema-nao-tem.html#comment-form" title="0 Comentários" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5385886717283510849/posts/default/2771320322892863611?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5385886717283510849/posts/default/2771320322892863611?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/NoSouMulherMaravilha/~3/luMATBw9fuM/quando-parece-que-o-problema-nao-tem.html" title="" /><author><name>»♥« Ñãö §öµ (/)µ£|-|ë® (/)ä®ä/¡£|-|ä»♥«</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00089043632464125217</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="24" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_105zhn3PhME/SqFSyO2og4I/AAAAAAAAARc/p8amLYPyBfk/S220/Miriam.jpg" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><content type="html">Quando parece que o problema não tem solução...Quando todos dizem que nada mais pode ser feito...Quando as forças se esvaem e não existe ânimo para recomeçar...É nesse momento que Deus entra em ação e prova que com Ele nada é impossível. Seu poder não tem limites.Com amor, Deus ouve o clamor dos seus filhos e concede a cura e o alento ao coração entristecido.Não devemos ver nem ouvir com os olhos
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/mxbZLRhDpuAkdWtYUqZ78f_JXLQ/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/mxbZLRhDpuAkdWtYUqZ78f_JXLQ/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/NoSouMulherMaravilha/~4/luMATBw9fuM" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://naosouamulhermaravilha.blogspot.com/2009/07/quando-parece-que-o-problema-nao-tem.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DkAHQH4-cSp7ImA9WxJUGEk.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5385886717283510849.post-7381450322800535807</id><published>2009-07-17T12:26:00.002-03:00</published><updated>2009-07-17T12:32:11.059-03:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-07-17T12:32:11.059-03:00</app:edited><title /><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://naosouamulhermaravilha.blogspot.com/feeds/7381450322800535807/comments/default" title="Postar comentários" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://naosouamulhermaravilha.blogspot.com/2009/07/mar-adentro.html#comment-form" title="0 Comentários" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5385886717283510849/posts/default/7381450322800535807?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5385886717283510849/posts/default/7381450322800535807?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/NoSouMulherMaravilha/~3/U9wmCYZGLkw/mar-adentro.html" title="" /><author><name>»♥« Ñãö §öµ (/)µ£|-|ë® (/)ä®ä/¡£|-|ä»♥«</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00089043632464125217</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="24" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_105zhn3PhME/SqFSyO2og4I/AAAAAAAAARc/p8amLYPyBfk/S220/Miriam.jpg" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><content type="html">Não temerei, pois o senhorvirá em meu socorro.MAR ADENTRO Não há mar profundo,Não há águas revoltosasQue nos amedrontem tantoQuando temos ao nosso ladoO Senhor que acalma as ondasE se não as tranqüiliza à nossa vista,Faz com que aprendamosa caminhar sobre elas.
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/RCSRgzBXJcWJHRLZ6UowmY0Qgc4/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/RCSRgzBXJcWJHRLZ6UowmY0Qgc4/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/NoSouMulherMaravilha/~4/U9wmCYZGLkw" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://naosouamulhermaravilha.blogspot.com/2009/07/mar-adentro.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DkcHSXo-fyp7ImA9WxJUGEk.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5385886717283510849.post-8278387471071539784</id><published>2009-07-17T12:18:00.001-03:00</published><updated>2009-07-17T12:20:38.457-03:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-07-17T12:20:38.457-03:00</app:edited><title>Arrepio e arrepiiiiiiiii</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://naosouamulhermaravilha.blogspot.com/feeds/8278387471071539784/comments/default" title="Postar comentários" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://naosouamulhermaravilha.blogspot.com/2009/07/arrepio-e-arrepiiiiiiiii.html#comment-form" title="0 Comentários" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5385886717283510849/posts/default/8278387471071539784?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5385886717283510849/posts/default/8278387471071539784?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/NoSouMulherMaravilha/~3/xJ9aj6Fvcuk/arrepio-e-arrepiiiiiiiii.html" title="Arrepio e arrepiiiiiiiii" /><author><name>»♥« Ñãö §öµ (/)µ£|-|ë® (/)ä®ä/¡£|-|ä»♥«</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00089043632464125217</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="24" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_105zhn3PhME/SqFSyO2og4I/AAAAAAAAARc/p8amLYPyBfk/S220/Miriam.jpg" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><content type="html">Preste atenção nesse segredo:Se o pelo do braço arrepiar de friocoloque um casaquinho pra se aquecer.Mas se o arrepio for de medoPode ser melhor começar a correr.De todo jeito você se esquentaDesarrepia e o pelo assenta.Porque pior do que assombração e dia geladoÉ ficar com o corpo todo arrepiado.(Silvana Tavano)
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