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Quote by Stephen D. Carver

“Data is the fuel of AI. And just like any engine, the quality of what you put in determines how far and how smoothly it can go." Artificial Intelligence Explained: The Complete Beginner’s Guide – 50 Essential Answers by AI, Clarified for Humans”

Quote by Stephen D. Carver

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Stephen D. Carver

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“Based on the parts of this... this scene that are not covered in refuse, and the drawings you have done for me, I know you are an artist with talent. Maybe I have old-fashioned views, but I simply don't understand why you would spend your time creating something like this." He shrugged his shoulders. "The sort of art I am used to seeing is more..." I raised an eyebrow. "More what?" He bit his lip, as though searching for the right words. "Pleasant to look at, I suppose." He shrugged again. "Scenes from nature. Little girls wearing filly white dresses and playing beside riverbanks. Bowls of fruit." "This piece shows a beach and a lake," I pointed out. "It's a scene from nature." "But it's covered in refuse." I nodded. "My art combines objects I find with images I paint. Sometimes what I find and incorporate is literal trash. But I also feel that my art is more than just trash. It's meaningful. These pieces aren't just flat, lifeless images on canvas. They say something." "Oh." He came even closer to the landscapes, kneeling so he could peer at them up close. "And what does your art... say?" His nose was just a few inches from an old McDonald's Quarter Pounder wrapper I'd laminated to the canvas so it looked like it was rising out of Lake Michigan. I'd meant for it to represent capitalism's crushing stranglehold on the natural world. Also, it just sort of looked cool. But I decided to give him a broader explanation. "I want to create something memorable with my art. Something lasting. I want to give people who see my works an experience that won't fade away. Something that will stay with them long after they see it." He frowned skeptically. "And you accomplish that by displaying ephemera others throw away?" I was about to counter by telling him that even the prettiest painting in the fanciest museum faded from memory once the patrons went home. That by using things other people throw away, I took the ephemeral and make it permanent in a way no pretty watercolor ever could.”

“It’s not just the advertisement that matters in a product’s impact on the consumer brain, but also, something as subtle as the color scheme of a product’s packaging matters a great deal. Each color triggers certain emotional responses in the human brain, so the color-scheme of the packaging of a product must match correctly with the product’s nature and purpose.”

“That will be $22.95." He held out a hand, and this time she laughed, the full, delightful belly chuckle he remembered from the past. "How about I buy you dinner when we get to the Shark Tank instead?" she offered. "I don't believe that's on our dating plan, Ms. Patel." He pulled out his phone. "Let me see... Hmm. It appears that we've already crossed off the dinner option." Daisy shrugged. "If you don't like their roast beef sandwiches..." "With horseradish?" "And beer." Liam stroked his chin as if considering. "Double order of fries?" "Each." "And for dessert?" he asked. "Fried Oreos, of course." He tucked away his phone. "For you, I'm willing to go 'off plan.”

“I meant to run down every road and up to every house if necessary. Movement conjured appetite, specific and sharp. For carne asada fries sweating in Styrofoam. For Australian fairy bread doused in sprinkles so plastic they'd outlast the coral reefs. For jian bing and soy milk and man tou strung each morning down Beijing's hutongs, where vendors were rumored to whiten their dough with lead paint, not fatal in such quantities, but sweet, addictive, you could cultivate a dangerous passion. Every artist needs a muse, the pastry chef had said, and it occurred to me that the muse might be myself.”

“Dinner?" "No." "Jalebi ice cream sandwich?" he called out, referring to one of her favorite childhood treats. Her betraying lips quivered at the corners. "No." "How about a snack? French toast crunch? Scooby Snacks? Trix with extra sugar? Pakoras and pretzels? Roast beef on rye with mustard and three thinly sliced pickles with a side of chocolate milk?" Laughter bubbled up inside her. He had done this almost every day to guess the after-school snack even though she had always taped the weekly family meal plan to the refrigerator door. "Pav bhaji, chaat, panipuri...?" Liam had loved her father's Indian dishes. "I'm not listening." But of course, she was. "Two grilled cheese sandwiches with ketchup and zucchini fries? Masala dosa...?" His voice grew faint as she neared the end of the block. "Cinnamon sugar soft pretzels, tomato basil mozzarella toasts...”