In this task, you're given an article and an answer. Your task is to generate the question for the answer based on the given article.

Article: Are _ born or made? In my case it was definitely made. In my early 20s, I hardly went to bed before midnight, and I would always get up late the next morning. But after a while I couldn't ignore the high relationship between success and rising early. On those rare occasions where I did get up early, I noticed that my productivity was always higher. So I set out to become a habitual early riser. But whenever my alarm went off, my first thought was always to stop that noise and go back to sleep. Eventually some sleep research showed that my strategy was wrong. The most common wrong strategy is this: supposing you're going to get up earlier, you'd better go to bed earlier. It sounds very reasonable, but will usually fail. There are two main schools of thought on sleep patterns. One is that you should go to bed and get up at the same time every day. The second school says you should go to bed when you're tired and get up when you naturally wake up. However, I have found both are wrong if you care about productivity. If you sleep at fixed hours, you'll sometimes go to bed when you aren't sleepy enough. You're wasting time lying in bed awake. My solution is to combine both methods. I go to bed when I'm sleepy and get up with an alarm clock at a fixed time. So I always get up at the same time (in my case 5 a.m.), but I go to bed at different times every night. However, going to bed only when I'm sleepy, and getting up at a fixed time every morning are my ways. If you want to become an early riser, you can try your own.
Answer: Because he / she found that the productivity was higher.
Why did the author want to become a habitual early riser?

Article: A funny thing happened on the way to the communications revolution: we stopped talking to one another. I was walking in the park with a friend recently, and his cell phone rang, interrupting our conversation. There we were walking and talking on a beautiful sunny day and... I became invisible, absent from the conversation. The telephone used to connect you to the absent. Now it makes people sitting next to you feel absent. Why is it that the more connected we get, the more disconnected I feel? Every advance in communications technology is a tragedy to the closeness of human interaction . With email and instant messaging over the internet, we can now communicate without seeing or talking to one another. With voice mail, you can conduct entire conversations without ever reaching anyone. If my mom has a question, I just leave the answer on her machine. As almost every contact we can imagine between human beings gets automated , the alienation index goes up. You can't even call a person to get the phone number of another person any more. Directory assistance is almost always fully automated. I am not against modern technology. I own a cell phone, an ATM card, a voice mail system, and an email account. Giving them up isn't wise... they're a great help to us. It's some of their possible consequences that make me feel uneasy. More and more. I find myself hiding behind email to do a job meant for conversation. Or being relieved that voice mail picked up because I didn't really have time to talk. The industry devoted to helping me keep in touch is making me lonelier ...or at least facilitating my antisocial instincts. So I've put myself on technology restriction: no instant messaging with people who live near me, no cell phoning in the presence of friends, no letting the voice mail pick up when I'm at home.
Answer: The Consequences of modern Technology
Which of the following would be the best title of the passage?

Article: Old Behrman was a painter who lived on the ground floor of the apartment building. For years, he had always been planning to paint a work of art, but had never yet begun it. He earned a little money by serving as a model to artists who could not pay for a professional model. He was a fierce, little, old man who protected the two young women in the studio apartment above him. Sue found Behrman in his room. In one area was a blank canvas that had been waiting twenty-five years for the first line of paint. Sue told him about Johnsy and how she feared that her friend would float away like a leaf on the old ivy vine climbing hopelessly up the outside block wall. Old Behrman was angered at such an idea. "Are there people in the world with the foolishness to die because leaves drop off a vine? Why do you let that silly business come in her brain?" "She is very sick and weak," said Sue, "and the disease has left her mind full of strange ideas." "This is not any place in which one so good as Miss Johnsy shall lie sick," yelled Behrman. "Some day I will paint a masterpiece, and we shall all go away." Johnsy was sleeping when they went upstairs. Sue pulled the shade down to cover the window. She and Behrman went into the other room. They looked out a window fearfully at the ivy vine. Then they looked at each other without speaking. A cold rain was falling, mixed with snow. The next morning, Sue awoke after an hour's sleep. She found Johnsy with wide-open eyes staring at the covered window. "Pull up the shade; I want to see," she ordered, quietly. Sue obeyed. After the beating rain and fierce wind that blew through the night, there yet stood against the wall one ivy leaf. It was the last one on the vine. It was still dark green at the center. But its edges were color1ed with the yellow. It hung bravely from the branch about seven meters above the ground. "It is the last one," said Johnsy. "I thought it would surely fail during the night. I heard the wind. It will fall today and I shall die at the same time." "Dear, dear!" said Sue, leaning her worn face down toward the bed. "Think of me, if you won't think of yourself. What would I do?" But Johnsy did not answer. The next morning, when it was light, Johnsy demanded that the window shade be raised. The ivy leaf was still there. Johnsy lay for a long time, looking at it. And then she called to Sue, who was preparing chicken soup. "I've been a bad girl," said Johnsy. "Something has made that last leaf stay there to show me how bad I was. It is wrong to want to die. You may bring me a little soup now." An hour later she said: "someday I hope to paint the Bay of Naples." Later in the day, the doctor came, and Sue talked to him in the hallway. "Even chances. With good care, you'll win," said the doctor. "And now I must see another case I have in your building. Behrman, whose name is some kind of an artist, I believe, has Pneumonia , too. He is an old, weak man and his case is severe. There is no hope for him, but he goes to the hospital today to ease his pain." The next day, the doctor said to Sue:" She's out of danger. You won. Nutrition and care now - that's all." Later that day, Sue came to the bed where Johnsy lay, and put one arm around her. "I have something to tell you, white mouse," she said, "Mister Behrman died of pneumonia today in the hospital. He was sick only two days. They found him the morning of the first day in his room downstairs helpless with pain. His shoes and clothing were completely wet and icy cold. They could not imagine where he had been on such a terrible night. "And then they found a lantern, still lighted, and a ladder that had been moved from its place. And art supplies and a painting board with green and yellow color1s mixed on it. "Look out the window, dear, at the last ivy leaf on the wall. Didn't you wonder why it never moved when the wind blew? Ah, darling, it is Behrman's masterpiece - he painted it there the night that the last leaf fell."
Answer: When the last leaf falls from the ivy vine I must go.
What was in Johnsy's mind all the time when she was very sick?