The thesis has allowed me to remember how strange, that long before wanting to be a philologist, writer or painter, he dreamed of becoming a private detective . In my childhood delusions I imagined a huge office full of albums with photographs of suspects, books, files and boxes full of clues and tools; listened, alert to what might happen, crossing streets wrapped in a dark trench coat, hat and sunglasses, through long hours of waiting crouched and tying ropes to the end of the day in a cafe away from the center. all came, I believe, thanks to a children's book we had at home - which would bring it back or remember the title! - In explaining the trade with all kinds of information and tricks to complete an investigation. A lack of customers I searched my own case and began to walk on the trail of a predator was around my house bearded. In a notebook I drew his portrait-robot and wrote details of his clothing, vehicle and hours in which they appeared, even nicknamed him caught with a random name, " Petritxol" , when such was unaware of the hidden alley Barcelona to which one becomes guided by its powerful aroma of hot chocolate and hot pasta. The only thing he feared was time to lay hands on the criminal, but free of complex feminists decided that the part dealing with my brother, playmate and partner in the planned cabinet. One day "Petritxol" disappeared and I had no choice but to enroll in the fictional world of the famous labor inspectors-Holmes, Poirot, Maigret, and fall in love with the heroes who starred novels dangerous smugglers robberies and murders that took place in English houses to Gosford Park while celebrating festivals and is smoked snuff snuff and pipe. never interested me most detective fiction, but lately I get the feeling more that initial excitement of the case "Petritxol." I keep track, pick up scattered notes I then tack, walk through footnotes, newspaper archives go around looking for a finding that sheds light in my humble case, and savor the search-sometimes expensive, with a mixture of innocence, joy and mystery . This time I also served a book, I discovered at the home of AnaC . In it I found traces very useful and encouraging experiences: He had no no beginning, no middle, no end. Just before him a wide chaotic matter, which forms loomed vaguely in the fog. As highlighted parts of the darkness, quickly wrote down its contours. Often, short instructions, a word, a fleeting trait, a lightning more than a thought, a sign stating that they had to look on that side, now and then some clear guidance, and here and there, as in hunting, to a broken branch on track again, a promise of return.
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main thing is to do what the old Ecclesiastical advised: be happy at work, to enjoy the soul in the midst of work.
(Jean Guitton: intellectual work, Rialp. 2005, pp. 60 and 155)
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