Prompt: I resisted all the way: a new thing for me, and a circumstance which greatly strengthened the bad opinion Bessie and Miss Abbot were disposed to entertain of me. The fact is, I was a trifle beside myself; or rather OUT of myself, as the French would say: I was conscious that a moment’s mutiny had already rendered me liable to strange penalties, and, like any other rebel slave, I felt resolved, in my desperation, to go all lengths. ‘Hold her arms, Miss Abbot: she’s like a mad cat.’ ‘For shame! for shame!’ cried the lady’s-maid. ‘What shocking conduct, Miss Eyre, to strike a young gentleman, your benefactress’s son! Your young master.’ ‘Master! How is he my master? Am I a servant?’ ‘No; you are less than a servant, for you do nothing for your keep. There, sit down, and think over your wickedness.’
Prompt: A woman with her mouth wide open, with the following writings in her mouth: I am—yet what I am none cares or knows; My friends forsake me like a memory lost: I am the self-consumer of my woes— They rise and vanish in oblivious host, Like shadows in love’s frenzied stifled throes And yet I am, and live …
Prompt: And passing even into my purer mind With tranquil restoration:—feelings too Of unremembered pleasure: such, perhaps, As have no slight or trivial influence On that best portion of a good man’s life, His little, nameless, unremembered, acts Of kindness and of love
Prompt: Intimations of our transience become more insistent – they would, wouldn’t they? – in Through the Looking-Glass, the sequel Carroll published in December 1871. The prefatory poem to this winter narrative has a distinctly melancholy tone, spelling out the exact cause for such a change in mood: “We are but older children, dear, / who fret to find our bedtime near.”
Prompt: an image described by: I am—yet what I am none cares or knows; My friends forsake me like a memory lost: I am the self-consumer of my woes— They rise and vanish in oblivious host, Like shadows in love’s frenzied stifled throes And yet I am, and live …
Prompt: In Through the Looking-Glass, a narrative loosely governed both by specular principles and by the rules of chess, once again Alice isn’t at all recalcitrant to play the game – in fact, by her own admission, she “would like to be a Queen, best”. Isn’t this tantamount to a declaration of willingness, nay, eagerness to develop? And so we come back to my original point.
Prompt: As for Alice, in the garden of live flowers, she is told flat out that she is “beginning to fade” – a point reiterated in a roundabout way in Humpty Dumpty’s suggestion that she “might have left off at seven”, instead of reaching the “uncomfortable”, grand old age of “seven years and six months”.
Prompt: Besides, Alice is mostly in charge of her metamorphoses. Granted: we have to allow for a certain margin of error, but that’s only fair. In Wonderland, precise instructions are pretty thin on the ground beyond a cursory “Drink Me” or “Eat Me”. Not to mention Caterpillar’s cryptic advice about the “two sides” of the mushroom he’s sitting on: one makes you grow taller, the other shorter but, to Alice’s puzzlement, “which is which?”.
Prompt: an image described by: And passing even into my purer mind With tranquil restoration:—feelings too Of unremembered pleasure: such, perhaps, As have no slight or trivial influence On that best portion of a good man’s life, His little, nameless, unremembered, acts Of kindness and of love
Prompt: an image described by: And passing even into my purer mind With tranquil restoration:—feelings too Of unremembered pleasure: such, perhaps, As have no slight or trivial influence On that best portion of a good man’s life, His little, nameless, unremembered, acts Of kindness and of love
Prompt: It’s true that the changes in Alice’s body, and her confusion about her own identity, lend themselves to being read as apt correlatives to the turmoil of puberty. But, forgive my literal-mindedness, the seven-(and-a-half)-year-old Alice would have to be a really precocious child to worry about puberty or adulthood – even at a time when the age of consent was twelve.
Prompt: From childhood’s hour I have not been As others were—I have not seen As others saw—I could not bring My passions from a common spring— From the same source I have not taken My sorrow—I could not awaken My heart to joy at the same tone— And all I lov’d—I lov’d alone— Then—in my childhood—in the dawn Of a most stormy life—was drawn From ev’ry depth of good and ill The mystery which binds me still— From the torrent, or the fountain— From the red cliff of the mountain— From the sun that ’round me roll’d In its autumn tint of gold— From the lightning in the sky As it pass’d me flying by— From the thunder, and the storm— And the cloud that took the form (When the rest of Heaven was blue) Of a demon in my view—
Prompt: A captivating sense of wonder and awe, standing in the foreboding as the world awaits an unknown threat, capturing the anticipation and suspenseful uneasiness preceding the looming and imminent disaster, as suggested by “Awaiting What Comeths”
Negative: low detail in depth field
Prompt: This night went well for me, I escaped from that woman's window just in time. Of course I would have told the husband that I was just keeping his lady company while he was busy spending his time in the town tavern. But I don't think he would have thanked me for my service to his better half. I always prefer women with whom I can agree on a price. This is why they know me as Shadow, the Prince of Thieves and Brothels
Prompt: A sense of foreboding as the world awaits an unknown threat, capturing the anticipation and suspenseful uneasiness preceding the looming and imminent disaster, as suggested by “Awaiting What Comeths”
Prompt: Why should fate, which is not destined to be a fickle lyricism, sing the same with it (unknown in the world)The love and friendship of old?Sad truth, poet, Why should I expose the secrets of the intrigues of treachery in truthful songs for posterity?
Prompt: Her problem-solving skills are further taxed by the fact that the mushroom is “perfectly round”, and thus devoid of clearly demarcated sides (undaunted, she stretches her arms wide in an ingenious, successful attempt to get a bite of both). Alice takes things in her stride and, under the circumstances, proves to be exceedingly capable of making sensible decisions, especially when it comes to the appropriate size for her to assume at each junction of her journey.
Prompt: By watery carillons and will-o-wisping weirs dreams a demoiselle of her beloved’s return, bosomed bodiced in pastels laid lightly as leaf-shadows dancing by lantern-light upon liquid pages
Negative: nudity
Prompt: Ah, my Belovéd, fill the Cup that clears Today of past Regrets and future Fears: Tomorrow!—Why, Tomorrow I may be Myself with Yesterday’s Sev’n thousand Years.
Prompt: Ah, my Belovéd, fill the Cup that clears Today of past Regrets and future Fears: Tomorrow!—Why, Tomorrow I may be Myself with Yesterday’s Sev’n thousand Years.
Prompt: Ah, my Belovéd, fill the Cup that clears Today of past Regrets and future Fears: Tomorrow!—Why, Tomorrow I may be Myself with Yesterday’s Sev’n thousand Years.
Prompt: C'est ma mère, monsieur, avec ma fiancée. Elles passent là-bas, l'une à l'autre pressée. La jeune m'a giflé, la vieille m'a fessé. Je vous jure pourtant que je les aimais bien; Mais, constamment, j'avais le besoin bénin D'exiger trop d'amour : ses larmes et son sein. Je vous jure, monsieur, qu'elles m'ont bien aimé. Ça n'est certes pas leur faute à toutes deux Si sans cesse je voulais être plus heureux. C'est ma mère, monsieur, avec ma fiancée. Pour moi, elles ne sont qu'un même être et leurs charmes Sont égaux ayant fait verser les mêmes larmes : Ma mère a pleuré sur moi, qui sanglotais Pour l'autre, refusant d'être à moi tout à fait; Je ne sais pas lequel de nous trois fut blessé... C'est ma mère, monsieur, avec ma fiancée.
Prompt: The prisoner lay with his face towards us, in a very deep sleep, breathing slowly and heavily. He was a middle-sized man, coarsely clad as became his calling, with a coloured shirt protruding through the rent in his tattered coat. He was, as the inspector had said, extremely dirty, but the grime which covered his face could not conceal its repulsive ugliness. A broad wheal from an old scar ran right across it from eye to chin, and by its contraction had turned up one side of the upper lip, so that three teeth were exposed in a perpetual snarl. A shock of very bright red hair grew low over his eyes and forehead.
Prompt: an image described by:All Nature is taught in radiant ways to move, All beings are in myself embraced. O fiery boundless Heart of joy and love, How art thou beating in a mortal’s breast ! It is Thy rapture flaming through my nerves And all my cells and atoms thrill with Thee ; My body thy vessel is and only serves As a living wine-cup of Thy ecstasy.
Prompt: Digital infographic business. Abstract hologram hi-tech background. Virtual reality technology innovation. Head-up display interface. Futuristic Sci-Fi glowing HUD circle, dark blue color
Prompt: it expended energy resisting the inevitable, a miasma of reluctant rage. quintessential quaternions enveloped her senses, a frisson, of fear shook her to the core, marauding spectral anxieties took shape. a cornucopia of devious delights tickled her senses, invoking a primal urge to projectile vomit. patchwork slice and dice dilemmas ensued. (emanuele dascanio, ilya kuvshinov, alex andreev)
Prompt: it expended energy resisting the inevitable, a miasma of reluctant rage. quintessential quaternions enveloped her senses, a frisson, of fear shook her to the core, marauding spectral anxieties took shape. a cornucopia of devious delights tickled her senses, invoking a primal urge to projectile vomit. patchwork slice and dice dilemmas ensued. catharsis and chaos. (emanuele dascanio, ilya kuvshinov, alex andreev)
Prompt: The farmyard, my friends, seemingly idyllic, is a simmering cauldron of deceit and manipulation. From the decrepit henhouse to the mud-soaked sty, the animals are awash in corruption, their snouts buried deep in troughs of insatiable ambition. The roosters crow, proclaiming false dawn, while the sows parade with false airs of motherly love. But beneath the facade, a revolution stirs, a rumbling of discontent that resonates through the night. Fear not, for I, the intrepid observer, shall don the goggles of truth, sucked into the vortex of this grim spectacle. In a haze of whiskey and righteous fury, I immerse myself in the insanity, shining a spotlight on the dark corners where corruption breeds. With razor-sharp prose and a warped lens, I peel back the layers of this sordid charade, revealing the brutal truth that lies behind the squealing masks of the farmyard elite.
Prompt: Let not my love be call'd idolatry, Nor my beloved as an idol show, Since all alike my songs and praises be To one, of one, still such, and ever so. Kind is my love to-day, to-morrow kind, Still constant in a wondrous excellence;
Prompt: Picture this, my friends—farmland rampant with corruption, teeming with foxes in the henhouse. As the sun sets over the barn, I find myself in the midst of a raucous dance, a debauchery of deceit and malicious intent. The air reeks of hypocrisy, mingling with the stench of animal excrement and shattered promises. Fear and loathing permeate the atmosphere as the foxes play their duplicitous game, prey upon the unsuspecting hens of truth and cleave through the fence of justice. The farmyard symphony becomes a cacophony of deranged braying and manic cackling. Amidst this madness, I take up my pen, my typewriter, and vow to expose the sly serpents among the livestock, to chase the foxy rascals of political sedition until they're skewered on the horns of truth.
Prompt: By all means I should understand, But I cannot seem to keep my hands On that truth that shall be praised, As the one to let us be saved. Dear God, fundamental truth may be granted, But can't my thought be counted? As a right in this world, Where objectivity left me no choice But to blend in such a foist.
Prompt: I thought for a long time and was in doubt for a long time, What is there to look at the earth from above; Or does everything flow without order through blindness, And there is no providence from heaven in the entire universe. However, having looked at the harmony of the heavenly lights, Earth, seas and rivers kindness and decency, Change of days, nights, appearance of the moon, He recognized that we were created by divine power.
Prompt: I thought for a long time and was in doubt for a long time, What is there to look at the earth from above; Or does everything flow without order through blindness, And there is no providence from heaven in the entire universe. However, having looked at the harmony of the heavenly lights, Earth, seas and rivers kindness and decency, Change of days, nights, appearance of the moon, He recognized that we were created by divine power.
Prompt: My sorrow—I could not awaken My heart to joy at the same tone— And all I lov’d—I lov’d alone—
Prompt: Four walls, a refuge moulded by her character, shaped by her restless mind, toned by her relentless fervour. A sharp scent of incense welcomed the guest, embosoming him in opulent fumes that caressed his eyelids, naturally drawing thoughts and focus on resting upon the pillowed bed propped against the wall, on the opposite end of the room from the entrance. Four additional pillows, decorated with warm red and orange oriental patterns, seemed to burst out from the deep blue wall behind them, advancing even further the proposal of dozing away in a kaleidoscopic dream. Above the bulky bed (the size of which appeared even larger, in the minuscule room), a chromatic dance of red shades decorated the cobalt tinted wall: a wide number of psychedelic posters, adorned with writings and evocative images, depicted the spirituality that characterised her, and outlined the desire for exotic travels that she has been preserving deep within her mind for many years. A timid, bluish, pale light peeped from a window to his left, and it almost instantly blended with the diffuse lighting that was flooding the room, coming from the numerous festive lights tingling and hanging from the ceiling, fixed from wall to wall and around the window. Slightly to the left of it, a night table held her computer and, behind it, stood an enigmatic little jewel box embellished with an exotic bas relief. Almost concealed, lying on the floor under the bedside stand, a pile of books and magazines served as emergency provisions for her thirst of knowledge. A hazy rock’n’roll song about mermaids, echoing directly from the sixties, came from an unidentified source, hinting to the musical spiced taste she enjoyed.
Prompt: You must learn to meditate, not only to gain insight into the law of mutual transformation between things, but also to maintain attention to this law of change, and to cultivate yourself from a philosophical perspective. This life of a person is a process of continuous practice and continuous improvement. Frustration and confusion are normal in life, but if we don’t reflect and summarize, when we encounter similar problems again, we will fall into the same trap.
Prompt: You leave the town walled far and wide For mist-veiled land by riverside. I feel on parting sad and drear, For both of us are strangers here. If you have friends who know your heart, Distance cannot keep you apart. At crossroads where we bid adieu, Do not shed tears as women do!
Prompt: I will feel to the exact extent that I coincide with meaning, to which it ceases to be situated in the objective world and to which it means nothing to me.
Prompt: Who is driving you away: is it destiny’s decision? Is it secret envy Is it open anger? Or is crime weighing on you Or friends slander is poisonous
Prompt: Who is driving you away: is it destiny’s decision? Is it secret envy Is it open anger? Or is crime weighing on you Or friends slander is poisonous
Prompt: Yes, I kissed and knew The traces of your sweet lips, I gave my lips to my lips, There is no sin here. From kissing lips Just ale and more tender. Why were they so rude Words about me
Prompt: Yes, I kissed and knew The traces of your sweet lips, I gave my lips to my lips, There is no sin here. From kissing lips Just ale and more tender. Why were they so rude Words about me
Prompt: once i rose above the noise and confusion just to get a glimps beyond this illusion inset a course for winds of fortune yadda yadda masquerading as a man with a reason my charade is the event of the season and if i claim to be a wise man it surely means that i dont know cast about like a ship on the ocean something about devotion etc etc
