The first book is not this one recopilatorio of articles that I publish nor, probably, will be the last one. If it were it, would suppose that it would have died to me. Vice to write, knows it all practice who it, only cures exerting it, as Oscar Wilde with respect to the temptations argued, that the unique way to surpass them is falling in them, according to the exquisite English writer. As age one is deprived already of too many things, of the unique one that fodder not to do without is in the future the one to write what it comes to me in desire. Not always it has been thus, of course. At different moments from the life, one has had to assume diverse labor, social, enterprise, familiar responsibilities, that have limited their freedom of expression. Being father, or neighbor, or newspaper director, or used of office must itself have well-taken care of and so he says himself. It is necessary to heft the words to avoid other people’s susceptibilities, by all means; but, mainly, one does not have to gamble his future cheers irresponsibly and, because soon it happens what happens.

For that reason, now no longer I have left hardly future and that if it exceeds to me something is past, I occur to account of that I go against current. That is to say, that it gives to tell things me that others are silent, in making reflections that others avoid and thinking without subjection to fashions, groups, beliefs or factions. Similar attitude, already you will include you, usually do not content to anybody and yes, however, to arouse the wrath of all. is not of ours, they say in his internal law, and sometimes in the external one, and they satanizan to him to one immediately. Some warned reader will talk back to me that I am assumeing an unwarranted role of victim, since if the things go as badly as I proclaim how it is possible that he writes in so many different means and with so different directions? Nor I know it to I myself, cranme.