congressional candidates places

The new initiative, which Altman launched today, is a combination of a political platform and a call for candidates that the 32-year-old tech millionaire can support in their bids for governor, lieutenant governor, and Congress.

Altman tells me he chose that potential slate because those races had a long enough lead-time for his participation to make a difference. Beyond the electoral focus, Altman also had a rationale for his initial concentration on the state of California.

In an era where the Federal government is relegating more responsibilities to the states, California, as the world’s sixth largest economy and the most populous state in the country, can have an outsized role on impacting the national political landscape, Altman says.

At the same time, the call for Altman’s political vision in the national conversation for things that require federal support, like universal medicare and improved access to education.

For Altman, both parties have become calcified in a mindset that pits economic growth against economic fairness, and he hopes to unify those two competing principles. Beyond that, there are certain areas, such as support for science and technology, where Altman feels like the Democratic Party can do more.

Looking past the call for candidates, Altman is also hoping to introduce a ballot initiative to tackle the state’s housing crisis.

In a statement on the new United Slate website, Altman lays out the problems the country faces:

Posted by xulili0230@outlook.com at 12:39Comments(0)


wants me far away

“Where else could I go?” When she turned to him there were tears in her eyes. “Father’s made it clear that I am no longer wanted on the council. Jaime, won’t you talk to him?” Jaime took off his cloak and hung it from a peg on the wall. “I talk to Lord Tywin every day.” “Must you be so stubborn? All he wants...” “... is to force me from the Kingsguard and send me back to Casterly RockGuangdong hotels in kowloon Peninsula and major urban area of Hong Kong. We have detailed transportation information free for guests to download.
“That need not be so terrible. He is sending me back to Casterly Rock as well. He , so he’ll have a free hand with Tommen. Tommen is my son, not his!” “Tommen is the king.” “He is a boy! A frightened little boy who saw his brother murdered at his own wedding. And now they are telling him that he must marry. The girl is twice his age and twice a widow!” He eased himself into a chair, trying to ignore the ache of bruised muscles. “The Tyrells are insisting. I see no harm in it. Tommen’s been lonely since Myrcella went to Dorne. He likes having Margaery and her ladies about. Let them wed.” “He is your son Victoria Kindergartens and nurseries are one of the trust-worthy hong kong kindergarten. It provides IB education with innovative bilingual/multilingual learning experience for children. ......”

“He is my seed. He’s never called me Father. No more than Joffrey ever did. You warned me a thousand times never to show any undue interest in them.” “To keep them safe! You as well. How would it have looked if my brother had played the father to the king’s children? Even Robert might have grown suspicious.” “Well, he’s beyond suspicion now.” Robert’s death still left a bitter taste in Jaime’s mouth. It should have been me who killed him, not Cersei. “I only wished he’d died at my hands.” When I still had two of them. “If I’d let kingslaying become a habit, as he liked to say, I could have taken you as my wife for all the world to see. I’m not ashamed of loving you, only of the things I’ve done to hide it. That boy at Winterfell...” “Did I tell you to throw him out the window? If you’d gone hunting as I begged you, nothing would have happened. But no, you had to have me, you could not wait until we returned to the city.” “I’d waited long enough. I hated watching Robert stumble to Shenzhen Transpring Enterprise Ltd. is one of the leading oil vape pen and vaporizer (A3 Vape Cartridge etc) manufacturer and supplier in China. Over the years, we have been serving many customers from USAyour bed every night, always wondering if maybe this night he’d decide to claim his rights as husband.”  

Posted by xulili0230@outlook.com at 12:53Comments(0)


e fat man was confused

“His elk?” said Meera, startled. “His ravens?” said Jojen. “Hodor?” said Hodor. “Was he green?” Bran wanted to know. “Did he have antlers?” Th. “The elk?” “Coldhands,” said Bran impatiently. “The green men ride on elks, Old Nan used to say. Sometimes they have antlers too.” “He wasn’t a green man. He wore blacks, like a brother of the Watch, but he was pale as a wight, with hands so cold that at first I was afraid. The wights have blue eyes, though, and they don’t have tongues, or they’ve forgotten how to use them.” The fat man turned to Jojen. “He’ll be waiting. We should go. Do you have anything warmer to wear? The Black Gate is cold, and the other side of the Wall is even colder. You -” “Why didn’t he come with you?” Meera gestured toward Gilly and her babe best deals

“They came with you, why not him? Why didn’t you bring him through this Black Gate too?” “He... he can’t.” “Why not?” “The Wall. The Wall is more than just ice and stone, he said. There are spells woven into it... old ones, and strong. He cannot pass beyond the Wall.” It grew very quiet in the castle kitchen then Profertil hk.

Bran could hear the soft crackle of the flames, the wind stirring the leaves in the night, the creak of the skinny weirwood reaching for the moon. Beyond the gates the monsters live, and the giants and the ghouls, he remembered Old Nan saying, but they cannot pass so long as the Wall stands strong. So go to sleep, my little Brandon, my baby boy. You needn’t fear. There are no monsters here. “I am not the one you were told to bring,” Jojen Reed told fat Sam in his stained and baggy blacks. “He is.” “Oh.” Sam looked down at him uncertainly. It might have been just then that he realized Bran was crippled. “I don’t... I’m not strong enough to carry you, I...” “Hodor can carry me.” Bran pointed at his basket. “I ride in that, up on his back.” Sam was staring at him. “You’re Jon Snow’s brother. The one who fell...” “No,” said Jojen. “That boy is dead.” “Don’t tell,” Bran warned. “Please.” Sam looked confused for a moment, but finally he said, “I... I can keep a secret. Gilly too.” When he looked at her, the girl nodded. “Jon “...Jon was my brother too Profertil hk.   

Posted by xulili0230@outlook.com at 12:18Comments(0)


one hoof caught a Thern

“I say yes. I command here.” “You command Therms,” Jon told him, “not free folk.” “I see no free folk. I see a crow and a crow wife.” “I’m no crow wife!” Ygritte snatched her knife from its sheath. Three quick strides, and she yanked the old man’s head back by the hair and opened his throat from ear to ear. Even in death, the man did not cry out. “You know nothing, Jon Snow!” she shouted at him, and flung the bloody blade at his feet. The Magnar said something in the Old Tongue water sports. He might have been telling the Therms to kill Jon where he stood, but he would never know the truth of that. Lightning crashed down from the sky, a searing bluewhite bolt that touched the top of the tower in the lake. They could smell the fury of it, and when the thunder came it seemed to shake the night. And death leapt down amongst them. The lightning flash left Jon night-blind, but he glimpsed the hurtling shadow half a heartbeat before he heard the shriek. The first Therm died as the old man had, blood gushing from his torn throat. Then the light was gone and the shape was spinning away, snarling, and another man went down in the dark. There were curses, shouts, howls of pain. Jon saw Big Boil stumble backward and knock down three men behind him. Ghost, he thought for one mad instant. Ghost leapt the Wall. Then the lightning turned the night to day, and he saw the wolf standing on Del’s chest, blood running black from his jaws.

Grey. He’s grey. Darkness descended with the thunderclap. The Therms were jabbing with their spears as the wolf darted between them. The old man’s mare reared, maddened by the smell of slaughter, and lashed out with her hooves. Longclaw was still in his hand. All at once Jon Snow knew he would never get a better chance. He cut down the first man as he turned toward the wolf, shoved past a second, slashed at a third. Through the madness he heard someone call his name, but whether it was Ygritte or the Magnar he could not say. The Thern fighting to control the horse never saw him .

Longclaw was feather-light. He swung at the back of the man’s calf, and felt the steel bite down to the bone. When the wildling fell the mare bolted, but somehow Jon managed to grab her mane with his off hand and vault himself onto her back. A hand closed round his ankle, and he hacked down and saw Bodger’s face dissolve in a welter of blood. The horse reared, lashing out. in the temple, with a crunch. And then they were running. Jon made no effort to guide the horse. It was all he could do to stay on her as they plunged through mud and rain and thunder. Wet grass whipped at his face and a spear flew past his ear. If the horse stumbles and breaks a leg, they will run me down and kill me, he thought, but the old gods were with him and the horse did not stumble. Lightning shivered through the black Dorne of sky, and thunder rolled across the plains reenex facial.  

Posted by xulili0230@outlook.com at 12:45Comments(0)


skirts up and bit at her bare

To her right was a second chair, taller than her own, with a stack of blue cushions piled on the seat, but Lord Robert was not in it. Sansa hoped he’d recovered. Marillion was not like to tell her, though. Sansa walked down the blue silk carpet between rows of fluted pillars slim as lances. The floors and walls of the High Hall were made of milk-white marble veined with blue kowloon walled city park.

Shafts of pale daylight slanted down through narrow arched windows along the eastern wall. Between the windows were torches, mounted in high iron sconces, but none of them was lit. Her footsteps fell softly on the carpet. Outside the wind blew cold and lonely. Amidst so much white marble even the sunlight looked chilly, somehow... though not half so chilly as her aunt. Lady Lysa had dressed in a gown of cream-colored velvet and a necklace of sapphires and moonstones. Her auburn hair had been done up in a thick braid, and fell across one shoulder. She sat in the high seat watching her niece approach, her face red and puffy beneath the paint and powder. On the wall behind her hung a huge banner, the moon-and-falcon of House Arryn in cream and blue. Sansa stopped before the dais, and curtsied. “My lady. You sent for me. formaldehyde

She could still hear the sound of the wind, and the soft chords Marillion was playing at the foot of the hall. “I saw what you did,” the Lady Lysa said. Sansa smoothed down the folds of her skirt. “I trust Lord Robert is better? I never meant to rip his doll. He was smashing my snow castle, I only...” “Will you play the coy deceiver with me?” her aunt said. “I was not speaking of Robert’s doll. I saw you kissing him.” The High Hall seemed to grow a little colder. The walls and floor and columns might have turned to ice. “He kissed me.” Lysa’s nostrils flared. I know what is true. You kissed him!”

“He kissed me,” Sansa insisted again. “I never wanted.-” ” Marillion was singing. Sansa twisted sideways, hysterical with fear, and one foot slipped out over the void. She screamed. “Hey-nonny, hey-nonny, hey-nonny-hey.” The wind flapped her legs with cold teeth. She could feel snowflakes melting on her cheeks. Sansa flailed, found Lysa’s thick auburn braid, and clutched it tight. “My hair!” her aunt shrieked. “Let go of my hair!” She was shaking, sobbing. They teetered on the edge. Far off, she heard the guards pounding on the door with their spears, demanding to be let in. Marillion broke off his song HKBU BBA.   

Posted by xulili0230@outlook.com at 12:49Comments(0)


condone such wanton

The Red Fork was wide and slow, a meandering river of loops and bends dotted with tiny wooded islets and frequently choked by sandbars and snags that lurked just below the water’s surface. Brienne seemed to have a keen eye for the dangers, though, and always seemed to find the channel. When Jaime complimented her on her knowledge of the river, she looked at him suspiciously and said, “I do not know the river. Tarth is an island. I learned to manage oars and sail before I ever sat a horse.” Ser Cleos sat up and rubbed at his eyes. “Gods, my arms are sore. I hope the wind lasts LAN Centre Setup.” He sniffed at it. “I smell rain.” Jaime would welcome a good rain. The dungeons of Riverrun were not the cleanest place in the Seven Kingdoms. By now he must smell like an overripe cheese. Cleos squinted downriver. “Smoke.” A thin grey finger crooked them on. It was rising from the south bank several miles on, twisting and curling. Below, Jaime made out the smoldering remains of a large building, and a live oak full of dead women. The crows had scarcely started on their corpses. The thin ropes cut deeply into the soft flesh of their throats, and when the wind blew they twisted and swayed. “This was not chivalrously done,” said Brienne when they were close enough to see it clearly. “No true knight would butchery.” “True knights see worse every time they ride to war, wench,” said Jaime. “And do worse, yes.” Brienne turned the rudder toward the shore. “I’ll leave no innocents to be food for crows.” “A heartless wench. Crows need to eat as well. Stay to the river and leave the dead alone, woman dermes.” They landed upstream of where the great oak leaned out over the water. As Brienne lowered the sail, Jaime climbed out, clumsy in his chains. The Red Fork filled his boots and soaked through the ragged breeches. Laughing, he dropped to his knees, plunged his head under the water, and came up drenched and dripping. His hands were caked with dirt, and when he rubbed them clean in the current they seemed thinner and paler than he remembered. His legs were stiff as well, and unsteady when he put his weight upon them. I was too bloody long in Hoster Tully’s dungeon. Brienne and Cleos dragged the skiff onto the bank. The corpses hung above their heads, ripening in death like foul fruit. “One of us will need to cut them down,” the wench said. “I’ll climb.” Jaime waded ashore, clanking. “Just get these chains off.” The wench was staring up at one of the dead women. Jaime shuffled closer with small stutter steps, the only kind the foot-long chain permitted. When he saw the crude sign hung about the neck of the highest corpse, he smiled. “They Lay With Lions,” he read. “Oh, yes, woman, this was most unchivalrously done... but by your side, not mine. I wonder who they were, these women?” “Tavern wenches,” said Ser Cleos Frey Dating.   

Posted by xulili0230@outlook.com at 12:41Comments(0)


cannot imagine anything

And now they received presents----but they had declined to accept provisions of any kind,for they intended to live on love.
“Shall we now go into a summer lodging or start on a journey hotel career singapore?”asked the bridegroom.
And the Swallow, who was a great traveller, and the old yard Hen, who had brought up five broods of chickens, were consulted on the subject. And the Swallow told of the beautiful warm climes,where the grapes hung in ripe heavy clusters,where the air is mild,and the mountains glow with colours unknown here.
“But they have not our green colewort there!”objected the Hen.“I was in the country, with my children one summer.There was a sand pit, in which we could walk about and scratch;and we had the entrée to a garden where green colewort grew:Oh, how green it was!I more beautiful.”
“But one cole-plant looks just like another,”said the Swallow;“and the weather here is often so bad.”
“One is accustomed to that,”said the Hen.
“But it is so cold here, it freezes.”
“That is good for the coleworts!”said the Hen.“Besides,it can also be warm. Did we not,four years ago, have a summer which lasted five weeks? it was so Polar hot here that one could scarcely breathe;and then we have not all the poisonous animals that infest these warm countries of yours, and we are free from robbers. He is a villain who does not consider our country the most beautiful----he certainly does not deserve to be here!”And then the Hen wept,and went on:“I have also travelled.I rode in a coop above fifty miles;and there is no pleasure at all in travelling!”
“Yes, the Hen is a sensible woman!”said the doll Bertha.“I don't think anything either of travelling among mountains, for you only have to go up, and then down again Polar M600. No, we will go into the sand pit beyond the gate,and walk about in the colewort-patch.”
And so it was settled.

Posted by xulili0230@outlook.com at 12:32Comments(0)


begged you to write

“But this is monstrous! Your conduct is inexplicable! We could have been at liberty six days ago! I will go straight to him; I will tell him our relations space exploration——”

“And he will demand of you two or three hundred thousand francs! Believe me, Madame, the best way is to say nothing to him. Pay your ransom; make him give you a receipt, and in fifteen days send to him a statement, with the following note: ‘Item, 100,000 francs paid, personally, by Mrs. Simons, our partner, as per receipt!’ In this way you will get back your money, without the aid of the soldiers. Is it clear?”

I raised my eyes and saw the pretty smile which broke over Mary-Ann’s face as she saw through the plot. Mrs. Simons angrily shrugged her shoulders Neo skin lab, and seemed moved only by ill-humor.

“Truly,” she said to me, “you are a wonderful man! You proposed to us an acrobatic escape when we had
such simple means at our command! And you have known it since Wednesday morning! I will never pardon you for not having told me the first day.”

“But, Madame, will you not remember that I to Monsieur, your brother, to send you a hundred and fifteen thousand francs?”

“Why a hundred and fifteen?”

“I mean to say a hundred thousand.”

“No! a hundred and fifteen. That is right! Are you Panel sure that this Stavros will not keep us here when he has received the money?”

“I will answer for it. The bandits are the only Greeks who never break their word. Do you not understand that if it happened once that they kept prisoners after having received the ransom, no one would ever pay one again?”

“That is true! But what a queer German you are, not to have spoken sooner.”  

Posted by xulili0230@outlook.com at 12:23Comments(0)


wants to be of service to her country

“And I suppose Levinka and Borinka and all their crew will be the trustees for that million?” Prince Valkovsky asked.

“That’s false, that’s false! It’s a shame to talk like that, father!” Alyosha cried with heat. “I suspect what you’re thinking! We certainly have talked about that million, and spent a long time discussing how to use it. We decided at last on public enlightenment before everything else . . . ”

“Yes, I see that I did not quite know Katerina Fyodorovna, certainly,” Prince Valkovsky observed as it were to himself, still with the same mocking smile. “I was prepared for many things from her, but this . . . ”

“Why this?” Alyosha broke in. “Why do you think it so odd? Because it goes somewhat beyond your established routine? because no one has subscribed a million before, and she subscribes it? What of it! What if she doesn’t want to live at the expense of others, for living on those millions means living at the expense of others (I’ve only just found that out). She and all, and to give her mite to the common cause. We used to read of that mite in our copy-books, and when that mite means a million you think there’s something wrong about it! And what does it all rest on, this common sense that’s so much praised and that I believed in so? Why do you look at me like that, father? As though you were looking at a buffoon, a fool! What does it matter my being a fool? Natasha, you should have heard what Katya said about that, ‘It’s not the brains that matter most, but that which guides them — the character, the heart, generous qualities, progressive ideas.’ But better still, Bezmygin has a saying about that that’s full of genius. Bezmygin is a friend of Levinka’s and Borinka’s, and between ourselves he is a man of brains and a real leader of genius. Only yesterday he said in conversation, ‘The fool who recognizes that he is a fool is no longer a fool.’ How true that is! One hears utterances like that from him every minute. He positively scatters truths.”  

Posted by xulili0230@outlook.com at 10:50Comments(0)


wasted face was turned towards

And, do you know, Vanya, I had a presentiment he’d end like that, at the time when you used to be always singing his praises, do you remember? It’s easy to say left nothing! Hm! . . . He’s won fame. Even supposing it’s lasting fame, it doesn’t mean bread and butter. I always had a foreboding about you, too, Vanya, my boy. Though I praised you, I always had misgivings. So B.‘s dead? Yes, and he well might be! It’s a nice way we live here, and . . . a nice place! Look at it iConcept!”
And with a rapid, unconscious movement of his hand he pointed to the foggy vista of the street, lighted up by the street-lamps dimly twinkling in the damp mist, to the dirty houses, to the wet and shining flags of the pavement, to the cross, sullen, drenched figures that passed by, to all this picture, hemmed in by the dome of the Petersburg sky, black as though smudged with Indian ink. We had by now come out into the square; before us in the darkness stood the monument, lighted up below by jets of gas, and further away rose the huge dark mass of St. Isaac’s, hardly distinguishable against the gloomy sky neo skin lab derma21.
You used to say, Vanya, that he was a nice man, good and generous, with feeling, with a heart. Well, you see, they’re all like that, your nice people, your men with heart! All they can do is to beget orphans! Hm! . . . and I should think he must have felt cheerful at dying like that! E-e-ech! Anything to get away from here! Even Siberia. . . . What is it, child?” he asked suddenly, seeing a little girl on the pavement begging alms.
It was a pale, thin child, not more than seven or eight, dressed in filthy rags; she had broken shoes on her little bare feet. She was trying to cover her shivering little body with a sort of aged semblance of a tiny dress, long outgrown. Her pale, sickly, us. She looked timidly, mutely at us without speaking, and with a look of resigned dread of refusal held out her trembling little hand to us. My old friend started at seeing her, and turned to her so quickly that he frightened her. She was startled and stepped back.
“What is it? What is it, child?” he cried. “You’re begging, eh? Here, here’s something for you . . . take it!”
And, shaking with fuss and excitement, he began feeling in his pocket, and brought out two or three silver coins. But it seemed to him too little. He found his purse, and taking out a rouble note — all that was in it — put it in the little beggar’s hand.
“ Christ keep you, my little one . . . my child! God’s angel be with you!”
And with a trembling hand he made the sign of the cross over the child several times. But suddenly noticing that I was looking at him, he frowned, and walked on with rapid steps flag patches.  

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