Marcus Vinicius Leite 

"He misses his creation, he cries without shame; I've never seen a purer soul, a more mature youth, and aware of life's traps. He's a short lad, white and myrtle, with a needy smile before plenty. His hands are fragile, and his hair light in the wind. Always radiant, he is the boy of little age: he learns by himself. Deep down, he knows he can do anything, but that nothing is easy and that the solution is to fight. "He's just a boy," I thought, as I watched him lift up his sleeves and fall to the beat for the long ordeal of writing. Marcus carries a brick on his back and a shovel in his hands. He dreams a lot and wants to get there: he makes cement of the things he has learned. His house will be that of a man who learned with the negations, a dynasty of right starts from then on".             Nicholas Behr -  Writer and Poet from Brasilia - BR