conversations.from: human
conversations.value: What is the first five paragraphs for a Hyperion Cantos book with the title 'The Rise of Endymion'?
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: The Rise of Endymion
  The Dalai Lama's boyish smile disappeared... not, I thought, out of petulance, but from displeasure at being patronized. When he spoke next, his voice had the sharp edge of command to it. I did not know many children, but I had known more than a few military officers, and if my experience was any guide, this boy would become a formidable man and commander.
  The Lord Chamberlain was bowing so low that I was afraid that his forehead was going to scrape the formal tiles. His voice quavered. "Yes, yes, of course, Your Holiness, of course. I knew that you knew this, My Lord, Your Holiness. I only meant... I only meant to say..."
  Regent Tokra said sharply, "I am sure that what the Lord Chamberlain meant to say, Your Holiness, is that although a few flyers make the voyage each year, many more die in the attempt. We would not want to put our honored guests in any danger."
  The Dalai Lama's smile returned, but it was something older and more cunning—almost mocking—than the boy's smile of a few minutes earlier. He spoke to Cardinal Mustafa. "You are not afraid of dying, are you, Your Eminence? That is the entire purpose of your visit here, is it not? To show us the wonders of your Christian resurrection?"
  Cardinal Mustafa made a gesture with his hands. "Then perhaps we will limit our visit to the Temple Hanging in Air and other accessible destinations," he said.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: What is three more paragraphs?
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: But you deflect the question somewhat, M. Aenea. May I ask you... will the Shrike be on your Tree of Pain when it leaves in three standard days' time?
  Of one's future? Of one's own death? Of one's fate? I know that, Aenea, daughter of my friend Brawne Lamia. I know that you have carried such terrible certitudes and visions with you since before you were born... since the days when your mother and I crossed the seas and mountains of Hyperion toward what we thought was our fate with the Shrike. I know that it has been very difficult for you, Aenea, my young friend... harder than any of us here could imagine. None of us could have borne up under such a burden.
  But still I want to know this part of my own fate. And I believe that my years of service in the cause of this battle... years past and years yet to be given... have earned me the right to an answer.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: What is the last four paragraphs?
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: She took a deep breath. "But as for knowing whether it will be a boy or girl, or what we name the baby... I have no clue, my darling. I have chosen not to look into this time, our time, but just to live it with you day to day. I am as blind to this future as you are."
  There came an embarrassed cough and we looked up to realize that A. Bettik was still standing next to the hawking mat. Aenea?"
  We waved a final good-bye, I tapped the flight threads, and the centuries-old mat rose fifty meters, flew over the errant city slab and stone tower a final time, circled the Consul's ebony spaceship, and carried us away westward. Already trusting the North Star as our guide, softly discussing a likely looking campsite on high ground some kilometers west, we passed over the old poet's grave where the Shrike still stood silent guard, flew out over the river where the ripples and whirlpools caught the last glows of sunset, and gained altitude as we gazed down on the lush meadows and enticing forests of our new playground, our ancient world... our new world... our first and future and finest world.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Add another sentence about Homer.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: She took a deep breath. "But as for knowing whether it will be a boy or girl, or what we name the baby... I have no clue, my darling. I have chosen not to look into this time, our time, but just to live it with you day to day. I am as blind to this future as you are. "
  There came an embarrassed cough and we looked up to realize that A. Bettik was still standing next to the hawking mat. 
  The android shook his head, but then said, "Have you ever read your father's sonnet 'To Homer,' M. Aenea?"
  We waved a final good-bye, I tapped the flight threads, and the centuries-old mat rose fifty meters, flew over the errant city slab and stone tower a final time, circled the Consul's ebony spaceship, and carried us away westward. Already trusting the North Star as our guide, softly discussing a likely looking campsite on high ground some kilometers west, we passed over the old poet's grave where the Shrike still stood silent guard, flew out over the river where the ripples and whirlpools caught the last glows of sunset, and gained altitude as we gazed down on the lush meadows and enticing forests of our new playground, our ancient world... our new world... our first and future and finest world.