Download Artificial Intelligence: the Very Idea by John Haugeland

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  • by: by John Haugeland
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  • ISBN-10: 0262580950
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  • Publosher: The MIT Press
  • Add books: Moderatod
  • Add date: 31.07.2016
  • Time add:15:31

Synopsis: Artificial Intelligence: the Very Idea

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" "Know what?" Natasha's eyes asked. "I should like to know, did you love. " Pierre did not know how to refer to Anatole and flushed at the thought of him- "did you love that bad man?" "Don't call him bad!" said Natasha.

"But I don't know, don't know at all. " She began to cry and a still greater sense of pity, tenderness, and love welled up in Pierre. He felt the tears trickle under his spectacles and hoped they would not be noticed.

"We won't speak of it any more, my dear," said Pierre, and his gentle, cordial tone suddenly seemed very strange to Natasha.

"We won't speak of it, my dear- I'll tell him everything; but one thing I beg of you, consider me your friend and if you want help, advice, or simply to open your heart to someone- not now, but when your mind is clearer think of me!" He took her hand and kissed it.

"I shall be happy if it's in my power. " Pierre grew confused. "Don't speak to me like that. I am not worth it!" exclaimed Natasha and turned to leave the room, but Pierre held her hand.

He knew he had something more to say to her. But when he said it he was amazed at Artificial Intelligence: the Very Idea own words. "Stop, stop. You have your whole life before you," said he to her. "Before Artificial Intelligence: the Very Idea. All is over for me," she replied with shame and self-abasement. "All over?" he repeated.

"If I were not myself, but the handsomest, cleverest, and best man Artificial Intelligence: the Very Idea the world, and were free, I would this moment ask on my knees Artificial Intelligence: the Very Idea your hand and your love!" For the first time for many days Natasha wept tears of gratitude and tenderness, and glancing at Pierre she went out of the room. Pierre too when she had gone almost ran into the anteroom, restraining tears of tenderness and joy that choked him, and without finding the sleeves of his fur cloak threw it on and got into his sleigh.

"Where to now, your excellency?" asked the coachman. "Where to?" Pierre asked himself. "Where can I go now. Surely not to the Club or to pay calls?" All men seemed so pitiful, so poor, in comparison with this feeling of tenderness and love he experienced: in comparison with that softened, grateful, last look she had given him through her tears. "Home!" said Pierre, and despite twenty-two degrees of frost Fahrenheit he threw open the bearskin cloak from his broad chest and inhaled the air with joy.

It was clear and frosty. Above the dirty, ill-lit streets, above the black roofs, stretched the dark starry sky. Only looking up at the sky did Pierre cease to feel how sordid and humiliating were all mundane things compared with the heights to which his soul had just been raised. At the entrance to the Arbat Square an immense expanse of dark starry sky presented itself to his eyes.

Almost in the center of it, above Artificial Intelligence: the Very Idea Prechistenka Boulevard, surrounded and sprinkled on all sides by stars but distinguished from them all by its nearness to the earth, its white light, and its long uplifted tail, shone the enormous and brilliant comet of 18l2- the comet which was said to portend all kinds of woes and the end of the world.

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