thegoodfellas/blogset-br huggingface dataset:
give them prizes, and then she gives things from her pocket. She asks again about why the Mouse did not like Cats and Dogs, but the mouse always gets offended. He tries to tell a tale, a sad one, joining all animals around, but when she mentions Dinah, her cat, all animals run away... Alice feels lonely. The White Rabbit returns, looking for his fan and gloves and he takes Alice for his housemaid, demanding his gloves and fan. She enters into his house to search for them. As she was very tiny, she decides to drink a bottle without any label on, hoping it makes her larger. It does, but it makes her so large that she fills the whole room. Alice grows larger again and the Rabbit can not get in his house. The Rabbit sends the lizard Bill and Alice warns them about Dinah so as to frighten them. She decides to eat a cake that appeared there and she can get out of the house. She gets very tiny again and finds a puppy which might want to eat her, but nothing happens, she only plays with a stick to get him tired so that she can escape from it. Then, she comes across a Caterpillar that asks Alice who she is. She answers that she does not know because she has changed so many times that day. Alice gets a little irritated because the Caterpillar keeps making very short remarks at what she says. Alice starts complaining that she is too small and the Caterpillar advises her to eat from the mushroom: one side will make her grow taller and the other side will make her grow shorter. So, she tries to nibble on both sides and gets a very long neck. Because of this, a pigeon mistakes her as a serpent in search of her eggs. Alice convinces it that she is only a little girl and eats again from the mushroom until she is reduced to her normal size.Alice decides to visit the March Hare since she is nearby. She stands in front of a house, thinking about what to do when a fish-like footman knocks on the door and a frog-like footman opens it. The fish-footman delivers an invitation from the Queen for the Duchess to play croquet and leaves. The frog-footman sits on the ground outside the house. Alice walks to the door and knocks, but the footman tells her that it is no sort of use in knocking as he is on the same side of the door and they are making too much noise in the house to hear her anyway. However, Alice opens the door herself.When she gets in the house, she meets the Duchess, a cat, a baby and some other creatures. The soup she tastes and also the air have a lot of pepper. The creatures all make much noise. The Duchess leaves the baby with her because she needed to play croquet with the Queen. The baby makes some strange noises, turns into a pig and runs
into the wood. Alice finds a cat who can appear and vanish many times. This cat tells her he is going to play croquet with the Queen.Thereafter, Alice sees a large table set out under a tree in front of the house. The March Hare and the Mad Hatter are having tea at it and a Dormouse is sitting between them, fast asleep. Alice sits down in a chair, although the Hare and Hatter tell her there was no room. The Hatters watch does not tell the time but the day of the month. The Hatter tells her that he quarreled with Time last March and he punished him with a forever six oclock which is always the teatime.Alice leaves after interrupting the Dormouses story, because she gets really offended after his remarks over her. She finds herself in a long hall, close to the little glass table. Alice notices a tree with a door in it, she takes the key and unlocks the door, eats from the mushroom to make herself smaller and is finally able to enter the beautiful garden.Alice comes upon a rose-tree with white roses. Three gardeners are painting them red because they are afraid of the Queen who asked to plant them red, not white. They can have their heads cut and Alice tries to protect them, but there is no way she would change her mind. She orders to execute them. After that, the Queen invites her to play croquet. Everyone plays without waiting for their turns and they constantly quarrel. The Queen orders the beheading of people. The cat can not be beheaded because he disappears all the time.As the Queen has ordered so many beheadings that only she, Alice and the King are spared. They meet a Gryphon and the Queen tells him to take Alice to the Mock Turtle to hear his history. The King pardons all the prisoners in the way. The Mock Turtle starts telling his history which is interrupted by sobbings and long pauses. He tells he had a master turtle called Tortoise and he took courses like Reeling and Writhing.The Gryphon and the Mock Turtle explain to Alice what sort of dance a Lobster Quadrille is. They start dancing around her while the Mock Turtle sings the words and they ask the Mock Turtle to sing Turtle Soup for them. He is interrupted with a cry was heard in the distance: 'The trial's beginning!. Alice and the Gryphon run away. While waiting for the trial, Alice notices that the King is the judge and that the jurors are not very smart. The White Rabbit reads the accusation, claiming that the Knave of Hearts stole the tarts. The first witness is the Mad Hatter, providing no evidence. The next witness is the Duchess cook and she is cross-examined. To Alices great surprise, she called as to be the third witness. She tells the King that she knows nothing about the stolen tarts. The King reads that all people more than a mile high must leave the court. Therefore, Alice refuses
to leave because she suspects that he made up the rule. Alice is not afraid to contradict the Queen anymore, as she has grown to her full size. Alice yells at them: - Youre nothing but a pack of cards!, trying to beat them off. At last, Alice finds herself lying on the bank, with her head in the lap of her sister, realizing that everything was a dream and tells her adventures to her. As Alice runs off for the tea, her sister thinks about the dream and falls asleep too. She dreams the same dream as Alice. She continues to dream about how her little sister will possibly become a grown woman and how she will always keep the simple joys, remembering her when she was little in her loving heart and the summer days, with this tales memories as part of her childhood.
I can enumerate quite a few things that I would like to achieve in my life. Among them, it is raising my children, traveling around the world, being successful in my carrier. Who doesnt aim those accomplishments? Well, another great deal of planning would be marrying a billionaire. What would be part of my life? In this case, Id live in a mansion and have more than a maid to take care of the house. Perhaps, Id get a baby sitter to watch out my children. My husband would be the kind of man that we see in films: lovely, partner in a big company, very wealthy. I can get everything I want: from the best beauty saloon to the most expensive clothes. But are all these things worth? It depends on what I put more importance in. Would be perfect staying in a mansion and having everything for me? No, I dont think so. Why not? I reckon I wouldnt be fulfilled. Actually, I want to have my family and to find myself successful in my profession. If I accepted someone supporting me, I would feel incapable, not useful. Then, even if my husband were rich and he gave me the option to stay in home, Id not take. On the other hand, if I married someone not rich, but who let me not work out, I wouldnt stay at home taking care of the house. I am not much for household chores, although I would like to spend time with my children.February, 2001 This comes from Bob Proctor's newsletter I have subscribed to. It is a nice way of improving vocabulary. I only have to double click any word and its meaning appears!!! :)Insight of the dayDear Clarissa,The following is a true story that we have sent in the past. It has a lesson well worth reading.Here is your Friday story,The Daffodil PrincipleSeveral times my daughter had telephoned to say, "Mother, you must come and see the daffodils before they are over." I wanted to go, but it was a two-hour drive from Laguna to Lake Arrowhead. Going and coming took most of a day - and I honestly did not have a free day until the following week."I will come next Tuesday," I promised, a little reluctantly, on her third call. Next Tuesday dawned cold and rainy. Still, I had promised, and so I drove the length of Route 91, continued on I-215, and finally turned onto Route 18 and began to drive up the mountain highway. The tops of the mountains were sheathed in clouds, and I had gone only a few miles when the road was completely covered with a wet, gray blanket of fog. I slowed to a crawl, my heart pounding. The road becomes narrow and winding toward the top of the mountain.As I executed the hazardous turns at a snail's pace, I was praying to reach the turnoff at Blue Jay that would signify I had arrived. When I finally walked into Carolyn's house and hugged and greeted my grandchildren I said, "Forget the
daffodils, Carolyn! The road is invisible in the clouds and fog, and there is nothing in the world except you and these darling children that I want to see bad enough to drive another inch!"My daughter smiled calmly, "We drive in this all the time, Mother.""Well, you won't get me back on the road until it clears - and then I'm heading for home!" I assured her."I was hoping you'd take me over to the garage to pick up my car. The mechanic just called, and they've finished repairing the engine," she answered."How far will we have to drive?" I asked cautiously."Just a few blocks,"Carolyn said cheerfully.So we buckled up the children and went out to my car. "I'll drive," Carolyn offered. "I'm used to this." We got into the car, and she began driving.In a few minutes I was aware that we were back on the Rim-of-the-World Road heading over the top of the mountain. "Where are we going?" I exclaimed, distressed to be back on the mountain road in the fog. "This isn't the way to the garage!""We're going to my garage the long way," Carolyn smiled, "by way of the daffodils.""Carolyn, I said sternly, trying to sound as if I was still the mother and in charge of the situation, "please turn around. There is nothing in the world that I want to see enough to drive on this road in this weather.""It's all right, Mother," She replied with a knowing grin. "I know what I'm doing. I promise, you will never forgive yourself if you miss this experience."And so my sweet, darling daughter who had never given me a minute of difficulty in her whole life was suddenly in charge - and she was kidnapping me! I couldn't believe it. Like it or not, I was on the way to see some ridiculous daffodils - driving through the thick, gray silence of the mist-wrapped mountaintop at what I thought was risk to life and limb.I muttered all the way. After about twenty minutes we turned onto a small gravel road that branched down into an oak-filled hollow on the side of the mountain. The fog had lifted a little, but the sky was lowering, gray and heavy with clouds.We parked in a small parking lot adjoining a little stone church. From our vantage point at the top of the mountain we could see beyond us, in the mist, the crests of the San Bernardino range like the dark, humped backs of a herd of elephants. Far below us the fog-shrouded valleys, hills, and flatlands stretched away to the desert.On the far side of the church I saw a pine-needle-covered path, with towering evergreens and manzanita bushes and an inconspicuous, lettered sign "Daffodil Garden."We each took a child's hand, and I followed Carolyn down the path as it wound through the trees. The mountain sloped away from the side of the path in irregular dips, folds, and valleys, like a deeply creased skirt.Live oaks, mountain laurel, shrubs, and bushes clustered in the folds, and in the gray, drizzling air,
the green foliage looked dark and monochromatic. I shivered. Then we turned a corner of the path, and I looked up and gasped. Before me lay the most glorious sight, unexpectedly and completely splendid. It looked as though someone had taken a great vat of gold and poured it down over the mountain peak and slopes where it had run into every crevice and over every rise. Even in the mist-filled air, the mountainside was radiant, clothed in massive drifts and waterfalls of daffodils. The flowers were planted in majestic, swirling patterns, great ribbons and swaths of deep orange, white, lemon yellow, salmon pink, saffron, and butter yellow.Each different-colored variety (I learned later that there were more than thirty-five varieties of daffodils in the vast display) was planted as a group so that it swirled and flowed like its own river with its own unique hue.In the center of this incredible and dazzling display of gold, a great cascade of purple grape hyacinth flowed down like a waterfall of blossoms framed in its own rock-lined basin, weaving through the brilliant daffodils. A charming path wound throughout the garden. There were several resting stations, paved with stone and furnished with Victorian wooden benches and great tubs of coral and carmine tulips. As though this were not magnificent enough, Mother Nature had to add her own grace note - above the daffodils, a bevy of western bluebirds flitted and darted, flashing their brilliance. These charming little birds are the color of sapphires with breasts of magenta red. As they dance in the air, their colors are truly like jewels above the blowing, glowing daffodils. The effect was spectacular.It did not matter that the sun was not shining. The brilliance of the daffodils was like the glow of the brightest sunlit day. Words, wonderful as they are, simply cannot describe the incredible beauty of that flower-bedecked mountain top.Five acres of flowers! (This too I discovered later when some of my questions were answered.) "But who has done this?" I asked Carolyn. I was overflowing with gratitude that she brought me - even against my will. This was a once-in-a-lifetime experience."Who?" I asked again, almost speechless with wonder, "And how, and why, and when?""It's just one woman," Carolyn answered. "She lives on the property. That's her home." Carolyn pointed to a well-kept A-frame house that looked small and modest in the midst of all that glory.We walked up to the house, my mind buzzing with questions. On the patio we saw a poster. "Answers to the Questions I Know You Are Asking" was the headline. The first answer was a simple one. "50,000 bulbs," it read. The second answer was, "One at a time, by one woman, two hands, two feet, and very little brain." The third answer was, "Began in 1958."There it was. The Daffodil Principle.For me that moment was a life-changing experience. I thought of this woman whom I had never met, who, more than thirty-five years before, had begun - one bulb at a time - to bring her vision of beauty and
joy to an obscure mountain top. One bulb at a time.There was no other way to do it. One bulb at a time. No shortcuts - simply loving the slow process of planting. Loving the work as it unfolded.Loving an achievement that grew so slowly and that bloomed for only three weeks of each year. Still, just planting one bulb at a time, year after year, had changed the world.This unknown woman had forever changed the world in which she lived. She had created something of ineffable magnificence, beauty, and inspiration.The principle her daffodil garden taught is one of the greatest principle of celebration: learning to move toward our goals and desires one step at a time - often just one baby-step at a time - learning to love the doing, learning to use the accumulation of time.When we multiply tiny pieces of time with small increments of daily effort, we too will find we can accomplish magnificent things. We can change the world."Carolyn," I said that morning on the top of the mountain as we left the haven of daffodils, our minds and hearts still bathed and bemused by the splendors we had seen, "it's as though that remarkable woman has needle-pointed the earth! Decorated it. Just think of it, she planted every single bulb for more than thirty years. One bulb at a time! And that's the only way this garden could be created. Every individual bulb had to be planted. There was no way of short-circuiting that process. Five acres of blooms. That magnificent cascade of hyacinth! All, just one bulb at a time."The thought of it filled my mind. I was suddenly overwhelmed with the implications of what I had seen. "It makes me sad in a way," I admitted to Carolyn. "What might I have accomplished if I had thought of a wonderful goal thirty-five years ago and had worked away at it 'one bulb at a time' through all those years. Just think what I might have been able to achieve!"My wise daughter put the car into gear and summed up the message of the day in her direct way. "Start tomorrow," she said with the same knowing smile she had worn for most of the morning. Oh, profound wisdom!It is pointless to think of the lost hours of yesterdays. The way to make learning a lesson a celebration instead of a cause for regret is to only ask, "How can I put this to use tomorrow?"Jaroldeen Asplund EdwardsBob proctor's website: http://bobproctor.com/ http://www.insightoftheday.com/default.asp
I have just enrolled at some courses available on the link below:http://www.coursera.org/They will mostly start in January, 2013. I am very excited about it! Juggle BallsImagine life as a game in which you are juggling some five balls in the air. You name them - work, family, health, friends and spirit and you're keeping all of these in the air. You will soon understand that work is a rubber ball. If you drop it, it will bounce back. But the other four balls - family, health, friends and spirit are made of glass. If you drop one of these, they will be irrevocably scuffed, marked, nicked, damaged or even shattered. They will never be the same. You must understand that and strive for balance in your life.How?* Don't undermine your worth by comparing yourself with others. It is because we are different that each of us is special.* Don't set your goals by what other people deem important. Only you know what is best for you.* Don't take for granted the things closest to your heart. Cling to them as you would your life, for without them, life is meaningless.* Don't let your life slip through your fingers by living in the past or for the future. By living your life one day at a time, you live ALL the days of your life.* Don't give up when you still have something to give. Nothing is really over until the moment you stop trying.* Don't be afraid to admit that you are less than perfect. It is this fragile thread that binds us each together.* Don't be afraid to encounter risks. It is by taking chances that we learn how to be brave.* Don't shut love out of your life by saying it's impossible to find. The quickest way to receive love is to give; the fastest way to lose love is to hold it too tightly; and the best way to keep love is to give it wings.* Don't run through life so fast that you forget not only where you've been, but also where you are going.* Don't forget that a person's greatest emotional need is to feel appreciated.*Don't be afraid to learn. Knowledge is weightless, a treasure you can always carry easily.* Don't use time or words carelessly. Neither can be retrieved. Life is not a race, but a journey to be savored each step of the way.Brian DysonFormer CEO of Coca-Cola Company. This was from a speech he gave at the Georgia Tech 172nd Commencement Address on September 6, 1996.Bob proctor's website: http://bobproctor.com/ http://www.insightoftheday.com/default.asp For The Man Who Hated ChristmasIts just a small, white envelope stuck among the branches of our Christmas tree. No name, no identification, no inscription. It has peeked through the branches of our tree for the past ten years or so.It all began because my husband Mike hated Christmas--oh, not the true meaning of Christmas, but the commercial aspects of it--overspending... the frantic running around at the last minute to get a tie for Uncle Harry and the dusting powder for Grandma---the gifts given
in desperation because you couldnt think of anything else.Knowing he felt this way, I decided one year to bypass the usual shirts, sweaters, ties and so forth. I reached for something special just for Mike. The inspiration came in an unusual way.Our son Kevin, who was 12 that year, was wrestling at the junior level at the school he attended; and shortly before Christmas, there was a non-league match against a team sponsored by an inner-city church. These youngsters, dressed in sneakers so ragged that shoestrings seemed to be the only thing holding them together, presented a sharp contrast to our boys in their spiffy blue and gold uniforms and sparkling new wrestling shoes. As the match began, I was alarmed to see that the other team was wrestling without headgear, a kind of light helmet designed to protect a wrestlers ears.It was a luxury the ragtag team obviously could not afford. Well, we ended up walloping them. We took every weight class. And as each of their boys got up from the mat, he swaggered around in his tatters with false bravado, a kind of street pride that couldnt acknowledge defeat.Mike, seated beside me, shook his head sadly, I wish just one of them could have won, he said. They have a lot of potential, but losing like this could take the heart right out of them. Mike loved kids - all kids - and he knew them, having coached little league football, baseball and lacrosse. Thats when the idea for his present came. That afternoon, I went to a local sporting goods store and bought an assortment of wrestling headgear and shoes and sent them anonymously to the inner-city church. On Christmas Eve, I placed the envelope on the tree, the note inside telling Mike what I had done and that this was his gift from me. His smile was the brightest thing about Christmas that year and in succeeding years. For each Christmas, I followed the tradition--one year sending a group of mentally handicapped youngsters to a hockey game, another year a check to a pair of elderly brothers whose home had burned to the ground the week before Christmas, and on and on.The envelope became the highlight of our Christmas. It was always the last thing opened on Christmas morning and our children, ignoring their new toys, would stand with wide-eyed anticipation as their dad lifted the envelope from the tree to reveal its contents.As the children grew, the toys gave way to more practical presents, but the envelope never lost its allure. The story doesnt end there.You see, we lost Mike last year due to dreaded cancer. When Christmas rolled around, I was still so wrapped in grief that I barely got the tree up. But Christmas Eve found me placing an envelope on the tree, and in the morning, it was joined by three more.Each of our children, unbeknownst to the others, had placed an envelope on the tree for their dad. The tradition has grown and someday will expand even further with our grandchildren standing
to take down the envelope.Mikes spirit, like the Christmas spirit will always be with us.Nancy W. GavinThis true story was originally published in the December 14, 1982 issue of Woman's Day magazine. It was the first place winner out of thousands of entries in the magazine's "My Most Moving Holiday Tradition" contest in which readers were asked to share their favorite holiday tradition and the story behind it. The story inspired a family from Atlanta, Georgia to start The White Envelope Project and Giving 101, a non profit organization dedicated to educating youth about the importance of giving.Bob proctor's website: http://bobproctor.com/ http://www.insightoftheday.com/default.asp