People will forget many things in this world. Whether it is big or small, good or bad, what you remember will be forgotten by others. You remember the things that others have forgotten. Memories are like a puzzle. You hold some puzzle pieces, and others also hold puzzle pieces. Only by working together can we piece together a somewhat complete memory. Now, both grandpa and grandma have been buried in the earth. The memories and stories about my growth have also been buried in the ground. When people are buried in the ground, there are still bones, and there are still people who care about them. Memories are gone when they are buried in the ground. Pencil drawing style. Chinese middle-aged man ,without hands. not to old.light color
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People will forget many things in this world. Whether it is big or small, good or bad, what you remember will be forgotten by others. You remember the things that others have forgotten. Memories are like a puzzle. You hold some puzzle pieces, and others also hold puzzle pieces. Only by working together can we piece together a somewhat complete memory. Now, both grandpa and grandma have been buried in the earth. The memories and stories about my growth have also been buried in the ground. When people are buried in the ground, there are still bones, and there are still people who care about them. Memories are gone when they are buried in the ground.
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People will forget many things in this world. Whether it is big or small, good or bad, what you remember will be forgotten by others. You remember the things that others have forgotten. Memories are like a puzzle. You hold some puzzle pieces, and others also hold puzzle pieces. Only by working together can we piece together a somewhat complete memory. Now, both grandpa and grandma have been buried in the earth. The memories and stories about my growth have also been buried in the ground. When people are buried in the ground, there are still bones, and there are still people who care about them. Memories are gone when they are buried in the ground.
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People will forget many things in this world. Whether it is big or small, good or bad, what you remember will be forgotten by others. You remember the things that others have forgotten. Memories are like a puzzle. You hold some puzzle pieces, and others also hold puzzle pieces. Only by working together can we piece together a somewhat complete memory. Now, both grandpa and grandma have been buried in the earth. The memories and stories about my growth have also been buried in the ground. When people are buried in the ground, there are still bones, and there are still people who care about them. Memories are gone when they are buried in the ground.
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People will forget many things in this world. Whether it is big or small, good or bad, what you remember will be forgotten by others. You remember the things that others have forgotten. Memories are like a puzzle. You hold some puzzle pieces, and others also hold puzzle pieces. Only by working together can we piece together a somewhat complete memory. Now, both grandpa and grandma have been buried in the earth. The memories and stories about my growth have also been buried in the ground. When people are buried in the ground, there are still bones, and there are still people who care about them. Memories are gone when they are buried in the ground. Pencil drawing style. Chinese middle-aged man height:576
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Darkness fills an underground chamber as torchlight flickers across ancient glyphs and faded paintings. A team of British archaeologists spearheaded by Howard Carter crawl through a narrow passage, their excitement growing as they push deeper into untouched burial rooms. Brushing dust from a newly uncovered step, Carter's light falls upon a shimmering sliver of gold. With a gasp he beckons the others, and together they sweep aside the remaining debris to reveal a massive sarcophagus untouched for over three millennia. Golden faces of gods and queens stare back as Carter scrapes away one final seal, hesitating before opening the lid to peer inside. There, in the flickering glow, lies the remarkably preserved body of King Tutankhamun. His discovery will shift perceptions of the past for generations to come.
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Darkness fills an underground chamber as torchlight flickers across ancient glyphs and faded paintings. A team of British archaeologists spearheaded by Howard Carter crawl through a narrow passage, their excitement growing as they push deeper into untouched burial rooms. Brushing dust from a newly uncovered step, Carter's light falls upon a shimmering sliver of gold. With a gasp he beckons the others, and together they sweep aside the remaining debris to reveal a massive sarcophagus untouched for over three millennia. Golden faces of gods and queens stare back as Carter scrapes away one final seal, hesitating before opening the lid to peer inside. There, in the flickering glow, lies the remarkably preserved body of King Tutankhamun. His discovery will shift perceptions of the past for generations to come.
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Here's an improved prompt that incorporates tension, conflict, and a sense of scale, without altering the length: As winter's frost looms, shrunken humans battle for survival in a world transformed. Giant spiders spin silken webs of death, blades of grass pierce like spears, and raindrops crash like oceans. Torn between warring factions, they must hunt, build, and fight amidst the forgotten crumbs of a once-familiar world.
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Here's an improved prompt that incorporates tension, conflict, and a sense of scale, without altering the length: As winter's frost looms, shrunken humans battle for survival in a world transformed. Giant spiders spin silken webs of death, blades of grass pierce like spears, and raindrops crash like oceans. Torn between warring factions, they must hunt, build, and fight amidst the forgotten crumbs of a once-familiar world.
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Here's an improved prompt that incorporates tension, conflict, and a sense of scale, without altering the length: As winter's frost looms, shrunken humans battle for survival in a world transformed. Giant spiders spin silken webs of death, blades of grass pierce like spears, and raindrops crash like oceans. Torn between warring factions, they must hunt, build, and fight amidst the forgotten crumbs of a once-familiar world.
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Here's an improved prompt that incorporates tension, conflict, and a sense of scale, without altering the length: As winter's frost looms, shrunken humans battle for survival in a world transformed. Giant spiders spin silken webs of death, blades of grass pierce like spears, and raindrops crash like oceans. Torn between warring factions, they must hunt, build, and fight amidst the forgotten crumbs of a once-familiar world.
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Here's an improved prompt that incorporates tension, conflict, and a sense of scale, without altering the length: As winter's frost looms, shrunken humans battle for survival in a world transformed. Giant spiders spin silken webs of death, blades of grass pierce like spears, and raindrops crash like oceans. Torn between warring factions, they must hunt, build, and fight amidst the forgotten crumbs of a once-familiar world.
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Finally, Aria and Karl regain their lost memories, feeling a deep sense of relief and gratitude. They come to understand that the Forest of Oblivion is not a place of malevolence, but a magical entity that guards and rejuvenates memories. Leaving the forest behind, they return to their village, eager to share their experiences with the villagers. Their story becomes a legend passed down through generations, serving as a reminder to cherish every memory, whether joyful or sorrowful. This tale underscores the belief that memories are an integral part of life, deserving to be treasured. The scene captures Aria and Karl as they recount their adventure to an enraptured audience, their faces alight with the wisdom and insight gained from their journey. The village listens in awe, the story of the Forest of Oblivion weaving into the fabric of their community, a timeless tale of discovery, recovery, and the enduring value of memories. seed:4230352618
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Finally, Aria and Karl regain their lost memories, feeling a deep sense of relief and gratitude. They come to understand that the Forest of Oblivion is not a place of malevolence, but a magical entity that guards and rejuvenates memories. Leaving the forest behind, they return to their village, eager to share their experiences with the villagers. Their story becomes a legend passed down through generations, serving as a reminder to cherish every memory, whether joyful or sorrowful. This tale underscores the belief that memories are an integral part of life, deserving to be treasured. The scene captures Aria and Karl as they recount their adventure to an enraptured audience, their faces alight with the wisdom and insight gained from their journey. The village listens in awe, the story of the Forest of Oblivion weaving into the fabric of their community, a timeless tale of discovery, recovery, and the enduring value of memories.\ seed:4230352618
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Finally, Aria and Karl regain their lost memories, feeling a deep sense of relief and gratitude. They come to understand that the Forest of Oblivion is not a place of malevolence, but a magical entity that guards and rejuvenates memories. Leaving the forest behind, they return to their village, eager to share their experiences with the villagers. Their story becomes a legend passed down through generations, serving as a reminder to cherish every memory, whether joyful or sorrowful. This tale underscores the belief that memories are an integral part of life, deserving to be treasured. The scene captures Aria and Karl as they recount their adventure to an enraptured audience, their faces alight with the wisdom and insight gained from their journey. The village listens in awe, the story of the Forest of Oblivion weaving into the fabric of their community, a timeless tale of discovery, recovery, and the enduring value of memories. seed:4230352618
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/dream prompt:Built on the shores of a lake, with houses all verandas one above the other, and high streets whose railed parapets look out over the water. Valdrada's inhabitants know that each of their actions is, at once, that action and its mirror-image, which possesses the special dignity of images, and this awareness prevents them from succumbing for a single moment to chance and forgetfulness
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(blocking in oil painting technique image) The mirror of a lustrum. There is a contemplative lustrum behind the glass, which is a mute consort of the boiling joy that cries out to it with arms upraised and crowned in a fist, to the twin that looks out through that window. It is a small victory dressed in time won, and that the first conscience jealously guards in the memory of a child born into the world for the second time. And I ask myself at every instant: How long will the memory last? That one that assaults the head every time a doubt arises, every time it takes refuge in the moment that celebrates being alive; The one that becomes the shadow of your own Cronos! In the guardian of the Ego, that dresses you before the gaze of God... Forever and ever.
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(blocking in oil painting technique image) The mirror of a lustrum. There is a contemplative lustrum behind the glass, which is a mute consort of the boiling joy that cries out to it with arms upraised and crowned in a fist, to the twin that looks out through that window. It is a small victory dressed in time won, and that the first conscience jealously guards in the memory of a child born into the world for the second time. And I ask myself at every instant: How long will the memory last? That one that assaults the head every time a doubt arises, every time it takes refuge in the moment that celebrates being alive; The one that becomes the shadow of your own Cronos! In the guardian of the Ego, that dresses you before the gaze of God... Forever and ever.
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(blocking in oil painting technique image) The mirror of a lustrum. There is a contemplative lustrum behind the glass, which is a mute consort of the boiling joy that cries out to it with arms upraised and crowned in a fist, to the twin that looks out through that window. It is a small victory dressed in time won, and that the first conscience jealously guards in the memory of a child born into the world for the second time. And I ask myself at every instant: How long will the memory last? That one that assaults the head every time a doubt arises, every time it takes refuge in the moment that celebrates being alive; The one that becomes the shadow of your own Cronos! In the guardian of the Ego, that dresses you before the gaze of God... Forever and ever.
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(blocking in oil painting technique image) The mirror of a lustrum. There is a contemplative lustrum behind the glass, which is a mute consort of the boiling joy that cries out to it with arms upraised and crowned in a fist, to the twin that looks out through that window. It is a small victory dressed in time won, and that the first conscience jealously guards in the memory of a child born into the world for the second time. And I ask myself at every instant: How long will the memory last? That one that assaults the head every time a doubt arises, every time it takes refuge in the moment that celebrates being alive; The one that becomes the shadow of your own Cronos! In the guardian of the Ego, that dresses you before the gaze of God... Forever and ever.
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(blockin in oil painting technique image) The mirror of a lustrum. There is a contemplative lustrum behind the glass, which is a mute consort of the boiling joy that cries out to it with arms upraised and crowned in a fist, to the twin that looks out through that window. It is a small victory dressed in time won, and that the first conscience jealously guards in the memory of a child born into the world for the second time. And I ask myself at every instant: How long will the memory last? That one that assaults the head every time a doubt arises, every time it takes refuge in the moment that celebrates being alive; The one that becomes the shadow of your own Cronos! In the guardian of the Ego, that dresses you before the gaze of God... Forever and ever.
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(blockin in oil painting technique image) The mirror of a lustrum. There is a contemplative lustrum behind the glass, which is a mute consort of the boiling joy that cries out to it with arms upraised and crowned in a fist, to the twin that looks out through that window. It is a small victory dressed in time won, and that the first conscience jealously guards in the memory of a child born into the world for the second time. And I ask myself at every instant: How long will the memory last? That one that assaults the head every time a doubt arises, every time it takes refuge in the moment that celebrates being alive; The one that becomes the shadow of your own Cronos! In the guardian of the Ego, that dresses you before the gaze of God... Forever and ever.
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(blockin in oil painting technique image) The mirror of a lustrum. There is a contemplative lustrum behind the glass, which is a mute consort of the boiling joy that cries out to it with arms upraised and crowned in a fist, to the twin that looks out through that window. It is a small victory dressed in time won, and that the first conscience jealously guards in the memory of a child born into the world for the second time. And I ask myself at every instant: How long will the memory last? That one that assaults the head every time a doubt arises, every time it takes refuge in the moment that celebrates being alive; The one that becomes the shadow of your own Cronos! In the guardian of the Ego, that dresses you before the gaze of God... Forever and ever.
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This effect suggests that people are more likely to remember information received in the short term, while memories of earlier information tend to fade.
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It is another name of Taishan Grandma. She is an important goddess in Chinese folk belief. Her image is usually a beautiful fairy dressed in a red or pink robe, wearing a jade crown, and holding a jade bottle. Behind her is a lotus flower, symbolizing her purity and nobility. Her face is gentle and kind, her eyes are loving, and she is the protector and blessing in people's mind
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Surrounding the mystical crystal, Aria, Karl, and their companions discover a mirror. As they gaze into it together, the reflections in the mirror begin to clarify, conjuring up stories from the past. The mirror serves as a conduit connecting all their lost memories, restoring them like pieces of a puzzle fitting perfectly back into place. The scene captures the group standing around the mirror, their faces illuminated by its luminescent glow. In the mirrors surface, fragmented memories merge and become whole, revealing scenes of their lives before they entered the Forest of Oblivion. The expressions on their faces are a mix of wonder, realization, and emotional awakening. This moment symbolizes the power of the mirror to bridge the gap between forgotten pasts and present realities, offering them a chance to reclaim their identities and stories lost in the depths of the forest. seed:4230352618
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Surrounding the mystical crystal, Aria, Karl, and their companions discover a mirror. As they gaze into it together, the reflections in the mirror begin to clarify, conjuring up stories from the past. The mirror serves as a conduit connecting all their lost memories, restoring them like pieces of a puzzle fitting perfectly back into place. The scene captures the group standing around the mirror, their faces illuminated by its luminescent glow. In the mirrors surface, fragmented memories merge and become whole, revealing scenes of their lives before they entered the Forest of Oblivion. The expressions on their faces are a mix of wonder, realization, and emotional awakening. This moment symbolizes the power of the mirror to bridge the gap between forgotten pasts and present realities, offering them a chance to reclaim their identities and stories lost in the depths of the forest. seed:4230352618
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(blocking in oil painting technique abstract image) The mirror of a lustrum. There is a contemplative lustrum behind the glass, which is a mute consort of the boiling joy that cries out to it with arms upraised and crowned in a fist, to the twin that looks out through that window. It is a small victory dressed in time won, and that the first conscience jealously guards in the memory of a child born into the world for the second time. And I ask myself at every instant: How long will the memory last? That one that assaults the head every time a doubt arises, every time it takes refuge in the moment that celebrates being alive; The one that becomes the shadow of your own Cronos! In the guardian of the Ego, that dresses you before the gaze of God... Forever and ever.
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(blocking in oil painting technique abstract image) The mirror of a lustrum. There is a contemplative lustrum behind the glass, which is a mute consort of the boiling joy that cries out to it with arms upraised and crowned in a fist, to the twin that looks out through that window. It is a small victory dressed in time won, and that the first conscience jealously guards in the memory of a child born into the world for the second time. And I ask myself at every instant: How long will the memory last? That one that assaults the head every time a doubt arises, every time it takes refuge in the moment that celebrates being alive; The one that becomes the shadow of your own Cronos! In the guardian of the Ego, that dresses you before the gaze of God... Forever and ever.
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(blocking in oil painting technique abstract image) The mirror of a lustrum. There is a contemplative lustrum behind the glass, which is a mute consort of the boiling joy that cries out to it with arms upraised and crowned in a fist, to the twin that looks out through that window. It is a small victory dressed in time won, and that the first conscience jealously guards in the memory of a child born into the world for the second time. And I ask myself at every instant: How long will the memory last? That one that assaults the head every time a doubt arises, every time it takes refuge in the moment that celebrates being alive; The one that becomes the shadow of your own Cronos! In the guardian of the Ego, that dresses you before the gaze of God... Forever and ever.
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(blocking in oil painting technique abstract image) The mirror of a lustrum. There is a contemplative lustrum behind the glass, which is a mute consort of the boiling joy that cries out to it with arms upraised and crowned in a fist, to the twin that looks out through that window. It is a small victory dressed in time won, and that the first conscience jealously guards in the memory of a child born into the world for the second time. And I ask myself at every instant: How long will the memory last? That one that assaults the head every time a doubt arises, every time it takes refuge in the moment that celebrates being alive; The one that becomes the shadow of your own Cronos! In the guardian of the Ego, that dresses you before the gaze of God... Forever and ever.
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