Tier 1 Quotes

Nonagesimus,” she said slowly, “the only job I’d do for you would be if you wanted someone to hold the sword as you fell on it. The only job I’d do for you would be if you wanted your ass kicked so hard, the Locked Tomb opened and a parade came out to sing, ‘Lo! A destructed ass.’ The only job I’d do would be if you wanted me to spot you while you backflipped off the top tier into Drearburh.” “That’s three jobs,” said Harrowhark.

Was it loyalty that created power? Or was loyalty only a symptom, offered when the circumstances were favorable and taken away when the tides turned? It helped that Lord Cai and Lord Montagov were men. Juliette wasn’t naive. Their every messenger, every errand runner, every lower-tiered but fiercely loyal gangster was male. Most of the Scarlet Gang feared and revered Juliette now,

Nonagesimus,” she said slowly, “the only job I’d do for you would be if you wanted someone to hold the sword as you fell on it. The only job I’d do for you would be if you wanted your ass kicked so hard, the Locked Tomb opened and a parade came out to sing, ‘Lo! A destructed ass.’ The only job I’d do would be if you wanted me to spot you while you backflipped off the top tier into Drearburh.” “That’s three jobs,” said Harrowhark. “Die in a fire, Nonagesimus.

Tiere sind gute Menschen und Menschen böse Tiere

I know 1/6 of 3/10 of absolutely fuck-all. They're pro. Their decker is top-tier. They do the shooty-shoot first, and don't ask questions after.

Rosalind: “So you don't want me either?” Rosalind flung up her hands. “Good! Because I am tiered of dealing with men. I really don't need any of you!” Rhys: “That's the spirit, my lady. Keep that up and we'll all be wishing you to the devil very shortly.

The best lie is one so exquisite and so tempting that both the deceiver and the listener yearn for it to be true.

Countries with high levels of atheism are also the most charitable both in terms of the percentage of their wealth they devote to social welfare programs and the percentage they give in aid to the developing world. The dubious link between Christian literalism and Christian values is belied by other indices of social equality. Consider the ratio of salaries paid to top-tier CEOs and those paid to the same firms’ average employees: in Britain it is 24:1; in France, 15:1; in Sweden, 13:1; in the United States, where 80 percent of the population expects to be called before God on Judgment Day, it is 475:1. Many a camel, it would seem, expects to pass easily through the eye of a needle.

I'd won our school science fair in the fourth grade, my "Phases of an Egg" presentation eclipsing the dozen or so baking-soda-and-vinegar volcanoes presented by the rest of our class. I'd taken gold in our town's Junior Olympics when I was ten, and got to stand up on the top of a three-tiered pedestal after placing first in the Fifty Yard Dash. One time when I was fourteen, I'd received a Presidential Physical Fitness certificate from Ronald Reagan, when I logged a record-breaking eighty-two situps in the span of a minute. But nothing compared to the sense of accomplishment I felt - no award, no ribbon, no trophy - no achievement lived up to the unfathomable triumph of having won the heart of Terrence C. Wilmington III.

So let’s talk a little about April May’s theory of tiered fame. Tier 1: Popularity You are a big deal in your high school or neighborhood. You have a peculiar vehicle that people around town recognize, you are a pastor at a medium-to-large church, you were once the star of the high school football team. Tier 2: Notoriety You are recognized and/or well-known within certain circles. Maybe you’re a preeminent lepidopterist whom all the other lepidopterists idolize. Or you could be the mayor or meteorologist in a medium-sized city. You might be one of the 1.1 million living people who has a Wikipedia page. Tier 3: Working-Class Fame A lot of people know who you are and they are distributed around the world. There’s a good chance that a stranger will approach you to say hi at the grocery store. You are a professional sports player, musician, author, actor, television host, or internet personality. You might still have to hustle to make a living, but your fame is your job. You’ll probably trend on Twitter if you die. Tier 4: True Fame You get recognized by fans enough that it is a legitimate burden. People take pictures of you without your permission, and no one would scoff if you called yourself a celebrity. When you start dating someone, you wouldn’t be surprised to read about it in magazines. You are a performer, politician, host, or actor whom the majority of people in your country would recognize. Your humanity is so degraded that people are legitimately surprised when they find out that you’re “just like them” because, sometimes, you buy food. You never have to worry about money again, but you do need a gate with an intercom on your driveway. Tier 5: Divinity You are known by every person in your world, and you are such a big deal that they no longer consider you a person. Your story is much larger than can be contained within any human lifetime, and your memory will continue long after your earthly form wastes away. You are a founding father of a nation, a creator of a religion, an emperor, or an idea. You are not currently alive.

There was Crovan, stalking his way to the far end of the first tier. The heir’s chair beside him was empty. At least the man was childless. The question of who would inherit Eilean Dòchais was occasionally a subject for dinner-table speculation. Personally, Gavar thought the place should be burned to the ground. And why wait till Crovan was dead to do it?

Everybody is giving birth to something - everybody but the lesbian in the upper tier. Her head is uptilted, her throat wide open; she is all alert and tingling with the shower of sparks that burst from the radium symphony. Jupiter is piercing her ears.

And she missed home, missed planetrise above the Station, and being clever and ambitious and not responsible yet, talking to Shrja Torel and her other friends in the ninth-tier station bars, imagining what they might do and not actually having to do it.

But no soldier above the rank of sergeant ever served jail time. No civilian interrogators ever faced legal proceedings. Nobody was ever charged with torture, or war crimes, or any violation of the Geneva Conventions. Nobody ever faced charges for keeping prisoners naked,or shackled. Nobody ever faced charges for holding prisoners as hostages. Nobody ever faced charges for incarcerating children who were accused of no crime and posed no known security threat. Nobody ever faced charges for holding thousands of prisoners in a combat zone in constant danger of their lives. Nobody ever faced charges for arresting thousands of civilians without direct cause and holding them indefinitely, incommunicado, in concentration camp conditions. Nobody ever faced charges for shooting and killing prisoners who were confined behind concertina wire. And nobody has ever been held to account for murdering al-Jamadi in the Tier 1B shower, although Sabrina Harman initially faced several charges for having photographed him there.

But it was not merely her choice to be a witness of the dirty work on Tier 1A. It was her role. As a woman she was not expected to wrestle prisoners into stress positions or otherwise overpower them, but rather just by her presence, to amplify their sense of powerlessness. She was there as an instrument of humiliation...The MPs knew very little about their prisoners or the culture they came from, and they understood less. But at Fort Lee, before they deployed, they were given a session of “cultural awareness training,” from which they’d taken away the understanding—constantly reinforced by MI handlers—that Arab men were sexual prudes, with a particular hang-up about being seen naked in public, especially by women. What better way to break an Arab, then, than to strip him, tie him up, and have a "female bystander," as Graner describer Harman, laugh at him? American women were used on the MI block in the same way that Major David DiNenna spoke of dogs—as "force multipliers." Harman understood. She didn’t like being naked in public herself. To the prisoners, being photographed may have seemed an added dash of mortification, but to Harman, taking pictures was a way of deflecting her own humiliation in the transaction—by taking ownership of her position as spectator.

What, my friends, is the conquest of one nation by another? It is meaningless. Each produces the same result. But those fierce fights, when in the dawn of the ages the cave-dwellers held their own against the tier folk, or the elephants first found that they had a master, those were the real conquests - the victories that count.

Obviously. If you’re planning to take on a boss, you’re not going to win unless your level is high enough for whatever they’re going to throw at you.

…You said life was irrational and unfair, but that’s not true. The game of life functions on a number of simple rules. You just can’t see them because they intersect in complex ways.

Russians. They hate foreigners only a little less than they hate themselves, and they’re born conspirators. Oh, they know very well they’re superior, but your Russki is insecure, wants to be respected, to be feared like the old Soviet Union. They need recognition, and they hate their second-tier status in the superpower stakes. That’s why Putin’s putting together USSR 2.0, and no one is going to stand in his way.

Brutality is boring. Over and over, hell night after hell night, the same old dumb, tedious, bestial routine: making men crawl; making men groan, hanging men from the bars; shoving men; slapping men; freezing men in the showers; running men into walls; displaying shackled fathers to their sons and sons to their fathers. And if it turned out that you'd been given the wrong man, when you were done making his life unforgettably small and nasty, you allowed him to be your janitor and pick up the other prisoners' trash. There was always another prisoner, and another. Faceless men under hoods: you stripped them of their clothes, you stripped them of their pride. There wasn't much more you could take away from them, but people are inventive: one night some soldiers took a razor to one of Saddam's former general in Tier 1A and shaved off his eyebrows. He was an old man. "He looked like a grandfather and seemed like a nice guy," Sabrina Harman said, and she had tried to console him, telling him he looked younger and slipping him a few cigarettes. Then she had to make him stand at attention facing a boom box blasting the rapper Eminem, singing about raping his mother, or committing arson, or sneering at suicides, something like that⁠—these were some of the best-selling songs in American history. "Eminem is pretty much torture all in himself, and if one person's getting tortured, everybody is, because that music's horrible," Harman said. The general maintained his bearing against the onslaught of noise. "He looked so sad," Harman said. "I felt so bad for the guy." In fact, she said, "Out of everything I saw, that's the worst." This seems implausible, or at least illogical, until you think about it. The MI block was a place where a dead guy was just a dead guy. And a guy hanging from a window frame or a guy forced to drag his nakedness over a wet concrete floor⁠—well, how could you relate to that, except maybe to take a picture? But a man who kept his chin up while you blasted him with rape anthems, and old man shorn of his eyebrows whose very presence made you think of his grandkids--you could let that get to you, especially if you had to share in his punishment: "Slut, you think I won't choke no whore / til the vocal cords don't work in her throat no more!..." or whatever the song was.

Hello,” said a Traveler, crouching down on Tier’s other side. “You must be the Bard.” “Tier,” said Seraph, “this is Kors. Kors, my husband, Tier. Kors, what do you want?” Ah, thought Tier contentedly, all that in under a breath, my Seraph at her charismatic best.

Suppose it really was a school for magic. Was it any good? What if he’d stumbled into some third-tier magic college by accident? He had to think practically. He didn’t want to be committing himself to some community college of sorcery when he could have Magic Harvard or whatever. “Don’t

The Elites who compete aren’t chosen, but rather, born into their fate. It’s always those of royal blood or of higher status on the Elites’ tier of power. I scan the crowd, eyes skipping over the smiling faces of Mundanes who are only thrown into the Trials for entertainment after the king allows us to pick who we wish to represent us.

The crowd bowed their heads and listened to the chaplain recite a brief prayer—vague and generic enough to offend no one, which, of course, resulted in offending almost everyone.

He could breach and clear a room while picking out guitar chords in his head for a new country song, but this simple technique required all his attention.

…How on earth do you get those kinds of results?” “It’s nothing special. I just think a little longer and work a little harder than everyone else in every field.

Nonagesimus,” she said slowly, “the only job I’d do for you would be if you wanted someone to hold the sword as you fell on it. The only job I’d do for you would be if you wanted your ass kicked so hard, the Locked Tomb opened and a parade came out to sing, ‘Lo! A destructed ass.’ The only job I’d do would be if you wanted me to spot you while you backflipped off the top tier into Drearburh.

despite these changes, the student bodies of the elite schools were still drawn overwhelmingly from the upper-middle class. According to sociologist Joseph Soares’s analysis in The Power of Privilege, consistent with other such analyses, 79 percent of students at “Tier 1” colleges as of the 1990s came from families in the top quartile of socioeconomic status, while only 2 percent came from the bottom quartile.16

The world breaks everyone and afterward many are strong at the broken places. But those that will not break, it kills. It kills the very good and the very gentle and the very brave impartially. —Ernest Hemingway

Bist du Vegetarierin?" [...] "Wieso?" "Weil ich so eine Theorie habe: Wenn wir sterben, darf jedes Tier, das wir gegessen haben, dafür uns fressen. Und wenn du als Fleischfresser mal alle Tiere zusammenzählst, die du in deinem Leben gegessen hast - da kommt eine Menge Zeit im Fegefeuer zusammen, in der irgendwelche Viecher auf dir rumkauen?" "Im Ernst jetzt?" Sie lacht. "Nein. Ich kann die Frage bloß nicht mehr hören...

..."Bist du Vegetarierin?" [...] "Wieso?" "Weil ich so eine Theorie habe: Wenn wir sterben, darf jedes Tier, das wir gegessen haben, dafür uns fressen. Und wenn du als Fleischfresser mal alle Tiere zusammenzählst, die du in deinem Leben gegessen hast - da kommt eine Menge Zeit im Fegefeuer zusammen, in der irgendwelche Viecher auf dir rumkauen?" "Im Ernst jetzt?" Sie lacht. "Nein. Ich kann die Frage bloß nicht mehr hören...

... "Bist du Vegetarierin?" [...] "Wieso?" "Weil ich so eine Theorie habe: Wenn wir sterben, darf jedes Tier, das wir gegessen haben, dafür uns fressen. Und wenn du als Fleischfresser mal alle Tiere zusammenzählst, die du in deinem Leben gegessen hast - da kommt eine Menge Zeit im Fegefeuer zusammen, in der irgendwelche Viecher auf dir rumkauen." "Im Ernst jetzt?" Sie lacht. "Nein. Ich kann die Frage bloß nicht mehr hören...

Then we’ll start with all of the tips that came in before midnight and see if we can narrow it down. So between the two of you, you had twenty-two first-tier leads. We’ll try to track down the woman, then move on to those, see what shakes out, then decide if a second run on the news is necessary. Hopefully it won’t be.” He turned to Jamison and Horbeck and waved them toward the door. “Thanks, guys. Now go on home and get some rest.

Life, in all its forms, is good. Because life, by definition, is the endeavor to persist against the forces of entropy, always nibbling and clawing to redistribute life’s energy and matter into the cold, homogeneous ether.

Irrelevant’ Chris Fogle turns a page. Howard Cardwell turns a page. Ken Wax turns a page. Matt Redgate turns a page. ‘Groovy’ Bruce Channing attaches a form to a file. Ann Williams turns a page. Anand Singh turns two pages at once by mistake and turns one back which makes a slightly different sound. David Cusk turns a page. Sandra Pounder turns a page. Robert Atkins turns two separate pages of two separate files at the same time. Ken Wax turns a page. Lane Dean Jr. turns a page. Olive Borden turns a page. Chris Acquistipace turns a page. David Cusk turns a page. Rosellen Brown turns a page. Matt Redgate turns a page. R. Jarvis Brown turns a page. Ann Williams sniffs slightly and turns a page. Meredith Rand does something to a cuticle. ‘Irrelevant’ Chris Fogle turns a page. Ken Wax turns a page. Howard Cardwell turns a page. Kenneth ‘Type of Thing’ Hindle detaches a Memo 402-C(1) from a file. ‘Second-Knuckle’ Bob McKenzie looks up briefly while turning a page. David Cusk turns a page. A yawn proceeds across one Chalk’s row by unconscious influence. Ryne Hobratschk turns a page. Latrice Theakston turns a page. Rotes Group Room 2 hushed and brightly lit, half a football field in length. Howard Cardwell shifts slightly in his chair and turns a page. Lane Dean Jr. traces his jaw’s outline with his ring finger. Ed Shackleford turns a page. Elpidia Carter turns a page. Ken Wax attaches a Memo 20 to a file. Anand Singh turns a page. Jay Landauer and Ann Williams turn a page almost precisely in sync although they are in different rows and cannot see each other. Boris Kratz bobs with a slight Hassidic motion as he crosschecks a page with a column of figures. Ken Wax turns a page. Harriet Candelaria turns a page. Matt Redgate turns a page. Ambient room temperature 80° F. Sandra Pounder makes a minute adjustment to a file so that the page she is looking at is at a slightly different angle to her. ‘Irrelevant’ Chris Fogle turns a page. David Cusk turns a page. Each Tingle’s two-tiered hemisphere of boxes. ‘Groovy’ Bruce Channing turns a page. Ken Wax turns a page. Six wigglers per Chalk, four Chalks per Team, six Teams per group. Latrice Theakston turns a page. Olive Borden turns a page. Plus administration and support. Bob McKenzie turns a page. Anand Singh turns a page and then almost instantly turns another page. Ken Wax turns a page. Chris ‘The Maestro’ Acquistipace turns a page. David Cusk turns a page. Harriet Candelaria turns a page. Boris Kratz turns a page. Robert Atkins turns two separate pages. Anand Singh turns a page. R. Jarvis Brown uncrosses his legs and turns a page. Latrice Theakston turns a page. The slow squeak of the cart boy’s cart at the back of the room. Ken Wax places a file on top of the stack in the Cart-Out box to his upper right. Jay Landauer turns a page. Ryne Hobratschk turns a page and then folds over the page of a computer printout that’s lined up next to the original file he just turned a page of. Ken Wax turns a page. Bob Mc-Kenzie turns a page. Ellis Ross turns a page. Joe ‘The Bastard’ Biron-Maint turns a page. Ed Shackleford opens a drawer and takes a moment to select just the right paperclip. Olive Borden turns a page. Sandra Pounder turns a page. Matt Redgate turns a page and then almost instantly turns another page. Latrice Theakston turns a page. Paul Howe turns a page and then sniffs circumspectly at the green rubber sock on his pinkie’s tip. Olive Borden turns a page. Rosellen Brown turns a page. Ken Wax turns a page. Devils are actually angels. Elpidia Carter and Harriet Candelaria reach up to their Cart-In boxes at exactly the same time. R. Jarvis Brown turns a page. Ryne Hobratschk turns a page. ‘Type of Thing’ Ken Hindle looks up a routing code. Some with their chin in their hand. Robert Atkins turns a page even as he’s crosschecking something on that page. Ann Williams turns a page. Ed Shackleford searches a file for a supporting document. Joe Biron-Maint turns a page. Ken Wax turns a page.

Jusqu’au XXe siècle, dans les sociétés agricoles, entre un quart et un tiers des enfants n’atteignaient jamais l’âge adulte. La plupart succombaient à des maladies infantiles comme la diphtérie, la rougeole et la variole. Dans l’Angleterre du XVIIe siècle, 250 nouveaux-nés sur 1 000 mouraient dans la première année, et un tiers des enfants mouraient avant d’avoir 15 ans. De nos jours, 5 % des enfants anglais meurent la première année et 7 % avant 15 ans.

No one else would dare interrupt Blake’s playing, but Beckett scooped him into a bear hug and pounded him on the back. “Look at fucking you! Playing this fucking multi-tiered nightmare!” Beckett waved his hands over the complicated organ. Blake laughed as Beckett set him back on the seat and pointed a thick finger at the organ. “You ass-fuck this bitch. Ass-fuck it.” Beckett peeked over the balcony at Cole below. “Sorry, baby. I have too much dirty in me.

Hmm,” he grunts, eying me skeptically. “Say, what’s your power, girl?” I fight the urge to stiffen as he continues with a grin, “By decree of the king, I’m to question anyone I feel… should be questioned.” He loves being in control. Having power. “I’m a Mundane,” I say simply, stating my tier on the Elites’ food chain to prove that I am of little threat and importance to him. “A Psychic.” I look him right in his black eyes as I say it, willing his black heart to believe me.

The difference between supermind and Big Mind (if we take Big Mind to mean the state experience of nondual Suchness, or turiyatita) is that Big Mind can be experienced or recognized at virtually any lower level or rung. Magic to Integral. In fact, one can be at, say, the Pluralistic stage, and experience several core characteristics of the entire sequence of state-stages (gross to subtle to causal to Witnessing to Nondual), although, of course, the entire sequence, including nondual Suchness, will be interpreted in Pluralistic terms. This is unfortunate in many ways—interpreting Dharma in merely Pluralistic terms (or Mythic terms, or Rational, and so on)—because it is so ultimately reductionistic; but it happens all the time, given the relative independence of states and structures at 1st and 2nd tier. Supermind, on the other hand, as a basic structure-rung (conjoined with nondual Suchness) can only be experienced once all the previous junior levels have emerged and developed, and as in all structure development, stages cannot be skipped. Therefore, unlike Big Mind, supermind can only be experienced after all 1st-, 2nd-, and 3rd-tier junior stages have been passed through. While, as Genpo Roshi has abundantly demonstrated, Big Mind state experience is available to virtually anybody at almost any age (and will be interpreted according to the View of their current stage), supermind is an extremely rare recognition. Supermind, as the highest structure-rung to date, has access to all previous structures, all the way back to Archaic—and the Archaic itself, of course, has transcended and included, and now embraces, every major structural evolution going all the way back to the Big Bang. (A human being literally enfolds and embraces all the major transformative unfoldings of the entire Kosmic history—strings to quarks to subatomic particles to atoms to molecules to cells, all the way through the Tree of Life up to its latest evolutionary emergent, the triune brain, the most complex structure in the known natural world.) Supermind, in any given individual, is experienced as a type of “omniscience”—the supermind, since it transcends and includes all of the previous structure-rungs, and inherently is conjoined with the highest nondual Suchness state, has a full and complete knowledge of all of the potentials in that person. It literally “knows all,” at least for the individual.

Never underestimate your enemy. That’s rule number one,” said Shadow as he glanced back at the two new tier 1s. “Yes, sir…” Peyton and Marcel said quietly.  “And rule number two should be: Never take your eyes off the enemy!” yelled Maili as she appeared behind Shadow and stabbed him in the back with her sword. “Maili!” yelled Red in a worried tone. The tier 2 ninja didn’t react at all to the blade piercing through his torso. Instead, he simply said, “You just violated rule number one.

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A Super-Integral Spirituality has all the features of an Integral Spirituality, plus, among other things, an inherent conjunction of each stage with a given state, giving all of its stages a transpersonal or spiritual flavor (at least the possibility of either gross nature mysticism, subtle deity mysticism, causal formless mysticism, or nondual Unity mysticism). These mystical states are, of course, available to virtually all the lower 1st- and 2nd-tier stages, although there are likely some significant differences in 3rd tier, given its inherent conjunction of structures and states.

The path of a high tier sorceress was risky. On certain nights, Amonette found herself courting a stress that would break any normal human. Even with the spellwork she wove to bolster her frame, she was barely able to keep herself together, always teetering on the edge of sanity. Vain as it sounded, she would do well to establish some type of human bond. The light from the candles cast long shadows on the wooden walls as the compounds from them activated: jasmine, myrrh, cinnamon, and scents from trees indigenous to the Mersi forest— Hamallallia branches and flowers from the Asmodean Drachla. As Amonette waited for the composite fragrance to fill the room, she heaved her dress over her head, feeling the numbness setting into her muscles. It's about time to begin, she thought. Amonette shivered slightly against the cold breeze nipping at her naked, ever desensitizing flesh. The light was just bright enough to reveal the sigils snaking the length of her stomach and torso-- lines carved into her flesh in moments when the spirit of Satharchon occupied her entirely. She was his most loyal, and hence she was blessed to hear his voice in her head on occasion, counseling her. She hoped he would find her entire body fit to occupy tonight.

People like Mrs. Lee were used to only one kind of Chinese wedding banquet—the kind that took place in the grand ballroom of a five-star hotel. There would be the gorging on salted peanuts during the interminable wait for the fourteen-course dinner to begin, the melting ice sculptures, the outlandish floral centerpieces, the society matron invariably offended by the faraway table she had been placed at, the entrance of the bride, the malfunctioning smoke machine, the entrance of the bride again and again in five different gowns throughout the night, the crying child choking on a fish ball, the three dozen speeches by politicians, token ang mor executives and assorted high-ranking officials of no relation to the wedding couple, the cutting of the twelve-tier cake, someone’s mistress making a scene, the not so subtle counting of wedding cash envelopes by some cousin,* the ghastly Canto pop star flown in from Hong Kong to scream some pop song (a chance for the older crowd to take an extended toilet break), the distribution of tiny wedding fruitcakes with white icing in paper boxes to all the departing guests, and then Yum seng!†—the whole affair would be over and everyone would make the mad dash to the hotel lobby to wait half an hour for their car and driver to make it through the traffic jam.

An Anna Blume Oh Du, Geliebte meiner 27 Sinne, ich liebe Dir! Du, Deiner; Dich Dir, ich Dir, Du mir, - - - - wir? Das gehört beiläufig nicht hierher! Wer bist Du , ungezähltes Frauenzimmer, Du bist, bist Du? Die Leute sagen, Du wärest. Laß sie sagen, sie wissen nicht, wie der Kirchturm steht. Du trägst den Hut auf Deinen Füßen und wanderst auf die Hände, auf den Händen wanderst Du. Halloh, Deine roten Kleider, in weiße Falten zersägt, Rot liebe ich, Anna Blume, rot liebe ich Dir. Du, Deiner, Dich Dir, ich Dir, Du mir, - - - - - wir? Das gehört beiläufig in die kalte Glut! Anna Blume, rote Anna Blume, wie sagen die Leute? Preisfrage: 1.) Anna Blume hat ein Vogel, 2.) Anna Blume ist rot. 3.) Welche Farbe hat der Vogel. Blau ist die Farbe Deines gelben Haares, Rot ist die Farbe Deines grünen Vogels. Du schlichtes Mädchen im Alltagskleid, Du liebes grünes Tier, ich liebe Dir! Du Deiner Dich Dir, ich Dir, Du mir, - - - - wir! Das gehört beiläufig in die - - - Glutenkiste. Anna Blume, Anna, A - - - - N - - - -N- - - - -A! Ich träufle Deinen Namen. Dein Name tropft wie weiches Rindertalg. Weißt Du es Anna, weißt Du es schon, Man kann Dich auch von hinten lesen. Und Du, Du Herrlichste von allen, Du bist von hinten und von vorne: A - - - - - - N - - - - - N - - - - - -A. Rindertalg träufelt STREICHELN über meinen Rücken. Anna Blume, Du tropfes Tier, Ich - - - - - - - liebe - - - - - - - Dir!

Picture to yourself all the kings’ palaces you ever saw, set side by side and piled on one another. That will be a little house, beside the House of the Ax. It was a palace within whose bounds you could have set a town. It crowned the ridge and clung to its downward slopes, terrace after terrace, tier after tier of painted columns, deep glowing red, tapering in toward the base, and ringed at head and foot with that dark brilliant blue the Cretans love. Behind them in the noonday shadow were porticoes and balconies gay with pictured walls, which glowed in the shade like beds of flowers. The tops of tall cypresses hardly showed above the roofs of the courts they grew in. Over the highest roof-edge, sharp-cut against the deep-blue Cretan sky, a mighty pair of horns reared toward heaven.

The overhead lights hit the Serch Bythol sculpture on the utmost tier, the sugar crystals shimmering and dancing like a cascade of diamonds. The planes of the cake beneath were clean and crisp, and the sugar-stained glass panels caught every light on the ceiling, throwing back shimmering rainbow rays. Sylvie was most proud of the silhouette that circled the middle stained-glass tiers--the skylines of London and Johnny's family estate in Lancashire. Only when viewed at close range did a second, hidden skyline emerge from within the reflective depths---the fantasy lands of I, Slayer, complete with a tiny, flying dragon. It was a work of art---and even now, she was taken aback by the level of harmony they had achieved, twinning together two very different styles. In honor of the union of two very different people, whose lives would hopefully interlock just as successfully.

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It’s my pet theory that the best games are always the simplest. The game of life looks like it doesn’t have any rules, but actually, it’s just an elegant, complex intersection of the simplest rules. You said life’s a shitty game, but that’s ridiculous. There’s no better game in the world. You just don’t know it yet… Nanashi is a great gamer, so how can I let him keep losing at such a wonderful game? …Tomozaki-kun, I’m going to give you an offer—no, an order.

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Jem wirkte nicht besonders überzeugt. Er beugte sich vor und hielt dem Kater die Hand entgegen, der sofort näher kam und seinen Kopf an Jems Fingern rieb. "So ist es brav, Church", lobte er das Tier. "Church? Ist das der Name deiner Katze?", fragte Tessa amüisiert. "Du meine Güte, war diese Mieze nicht eine von Mrs Darks Gefährten oder so etwas Ähnliches? Vielleicht ist Church nicht gerade ein passender Name für sie!" "Für ihn. Die >Mieze< ist ein er", berichtigte Jem sie in gespielter Empörung. "Außerdem war der Kater kein Gefährte, sondern eine arme Kreatur, die Mrs Dark im Rahmen ihres Totenbeschwörungszaubers zu opfern gedachte. Charlotte redet ständig davon, dass wir ihn behalten sollten, weil es angeblich Glück bringt, eine Katze in der Kirche zu haben. Also haben wir ihn einfach den Kirchenkater genannt... und daraus wurde dann schließlich Church", erklärte Jem achselzuckend. "Und wenn dieser Name dazu beiträgt, dass er nicht in Schwierigkeiten gerät, umso besser." "Irgendwie habe ich den Eindruck, dass er mich auf eine überhebliche Weise mustert." "Gut möglich. Katzen betrachten sich generell als allen anderen überlegen.

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It was up to him to solve the unknown variables and balance the equation. Everything in life was an equation, and unbalanced equations set off chain reactions and became chaos. In a perverse sense, he considered himself a bookkeeper, maintaining the ledgers of madness that mankind perpetually unleashed on itself and the world at large. When the books were balanced, a fragile sort of peace persisted until the tireless agents of entropy began their work anew. What is peace but war held in check? What is life but entropy held at bay? He could not remember when the thought first occurred to him that good and evil could be—must be—understood in mathematical terms. Entropy is the true devil in the universe, not some cackling, fiery satyr with horns and a pitchfork. Entropy is the great destructor, the root of all disorder and chaos. What are the seven deadly sins, if not a failure to resist the decay of one’s moral fiber? What is war, if not an alliance with entropy to bring chaos and destruction to an ordered world? It took 182 years to build Notre Dame de Paris—182 years of effort, energy, and discipline to construct a magnificent cathedral from sand, wood, and stone unhewn. But with only one Mark 83 general-purpose bomb, this beautiful triumph over entropy could be reduced to rubble. Would the bombing of Notre Dame be a sin, even with no human casualties? Yes, because the very existence of such a structure in the universe is good.

Dominic was rubbing his cheek against her head when his body stiffened. "What is that?" "What?" She was trying to wiggle her fingers in between his shirt buttons without anyone else seeing. She liked the feel of his chest hair beneath her skin. Although her onetime comment comparing it to petting Humphrey was a mistake she wouldn't repeat. "In the sugar bubble on the second tier." Dominic was dropping into his Operation Cake tone, which only made her want to open all the buttons. "What is that?" "Probably another dragon," she said airily, rubbing him and making a shiver run through his big body. "We agreed on including Caractacus." "Yes. We agreed on the dragon. We did not agree on other crea..." He couldn't seem to help running his fingers down her spine, but she felt the moment he realized what he was looking at. His words became dangerously even. "It has a horn." "You're seeing things." A soothing pet on his pec. "It has hooves." Unmistakable outrage. "I have no idea what you're talking about." In public, he was still usually a little more reserved, but he swung her around now, properly into his arms. His brows had lifted pointedly, but he was unable to fully repress that laugh she loved so much. His forehead came down to rest on hers. "God, you're lucky I adore you." Sylvie was smiling as she slipped her arms around his shoulders. "And despite your hopeless lack of imagination and tragic inclination toward minimalism, I love you madly.

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And you know what else they probably pray for every night?” I paused for a moment before saying, “Someone to save them. We could be that someone. We could end this plague. We could save the world. But I can’t do it alone. I’m gonna need your help, specifically the help of our tier 1s and tier 2s.” The crowd started murmuring to each other. “So, that’s what this speech is about—I’m asking for volunteers for this final mission. Now, I know what I’m asking, and I know it’s a lot. I’m basically asking you to risk your lives to help me fight the hardest battle ever. And I can’t guarantee your safety, nor can I guarantee our success… but still, we have to try. For the greater good, we have to try. Because we’ve come too far to give up now. That’s why we’re gonna give this one last mission our best effort. We’re gonna all come together and push hard through the finish line. And with our newly crafted dragon equipment and all the new class upgrades, I believe our chance of success is higher than ever before. So, with that in mind, what say you, my friends? Who’s with me? Who’s gonna help me put an end to the nightly plagues?” There was a brief moment of silence as my final words echoed through the night. But then Devlin spoke up. “I’m with you, Steve! Always.” “Me, too!” yelled Bob. “An epic fight between good and evil?! Can’t miss out on that!” shouted Arthur. “I got your back, bro!” yelled Obsidian Fist. Dozens of more tier 1s and 2s volunteered and made themselves heard. As I watched their hands shot up into the air, I smiled and let out a breath of relief. “Were you worried that there wouldn’t be enough volunteers?” the mayor whispered to me. “Yeah, kinda…” I whispered back. Then he smiled at me. “You’re their general, Steve. They’re not going to let you go off into battle alone… and neither would I.” He shook my hand. “Great speech, by the way. I’ll take it from here.” “Thank you, sir,” I said as I handed him the microphone. The mayor’s voice boomed over the speakers. “Alright, well said. Let’s give it up for General Steve!” Everyone clapped and cheered. “For those of you that volunteered, we’ll be heading out in a day or two. We still need to make preparations for the trip, and Cole still needs to fit the new armor to the golem suits, so all that is going to take some time. I’d suggest you use this time wisely—spend it with family, friends and loved ones. Eat with them, relax with them, be merry and carefree. Because when it is time to go, we’ll be in it to fight the battle of our lives.” The tier 1s and 2s in the crowd nodded.

She spoke so passionately that some of the Historians believed her, even the ones like Dr. Karuna who had been passed over for promotion when Crome put Valentine in charge of their Guild. As for Bevis Pod, he watched her with shining eyes, filled with a feeling that he couldn’t even name; something that they had never taught him about in the Learning Labs. It made him shiver all over. Pomeroy was the first to speak. “I hope you’re right, Miss Valentine,” he said. “Because he is the only man who can hope to challenge the Lord Mayor. We must wait for his return.” “But …” “In the meantime, we have agreed to keep Mr. Pod safe, here at the Museum. He can sleep up in the old Transport Gallery, and help Dr. Nancarrow catalogue the art collection, and if the Engineers come hunting for him we’ll find a hiding place. It isn’t much of a blow against Crome, I know. But please understand, Katherine: We are old, and frightened, and there really is nothing more that we can do.” The world was changing. That was nothing new, of course; the first thing an Apprentice Historian learned was that the world was always changing, but now it was changing so fast that you could actually see it happening. Looking down from the flight deck of the Jenny Haniver, Tom saw the wide plains of the eastern Hunting Ground speckled with speeding towns, spurred into flight by whatever it was that had bruised the northern sky, heading away from it as fast as their tracks or wheels could carry them, too preoccupied to try and catch one another. “MEDUSA,” he heard Miss Fang whisper to herself, staring toward the far-off, flame-flecked smoke. “What is a MEDUSA?” asked Hester. “You know something, don’t you? About what my mum and dad were killed for?” “I’m afraid not,” the aviatrix replied. “I wish I did. But I heard the name once. Six years ago another League agent managed to get into London, posing as a crewman on a licensed airship. He had heard something that must have intrigued him, but we never learned what it was. The League had only one message from him, just two words: Beware MEDUSA. The Engineers caught him and killed him.” “How do you know?” asked Tom. “Because they sent us back his head,” said Miss Fang. “Cash on Delivery.” That evening she set the Jenny Haniver down on one of the fleeing towns, a respectable four-decker called Peripatetiapolis that was steering south to lair in the mountains beyond the Sea of Khazak. At the air-harbor there they heard more news of what had happened to Panzerstadt-Bayreuth. “I saw it!” said an aviator. “I was a hundred miles away, but I still saw it. A tongue of fire, reaching out from London’s Top Tier and bringing death to everything

You’ve got great base stats, so someone like you wouldn’t get how I feel.” Aoi Hinami’s mouth moved ever so slightly, like she was repeating my words, but I couldn’t hear her. I wasn’t even sure what my voice sounded like just then. “Life is unfair. I’m ugly, I have a bad build, I overthink until I can’t do anything, I’m wishy-washy, people make fun of everything I do, and I have no confidence in my ability to communicate. How is someone like me supposed to beat someone strong like you?” This might have been the first time I ever said something like that to a stranger. “But that’s all fine. Because life’s not fair. You don’t get results just by trying hard. If you could, I would, but life doesn’t have rules. No rewards, no right answers. As a game, it’s a piece of shit. If there’s no right answer, then there’s no point in trying. And I hate the way normies like you live. Your confidence is totally baseless, and you go around in packs just pretending to have fun.” With the floodgates opened, I couldn’t stop myself. “Even when I have a reason to be confident, I shy away. When I’m in a group I just feel alone, and it’s not fun. I’m used to this life. I don’t know why things are this way. You have a problem with that? I’ve been like this as long as I can remember. That’s fine with me. I’m a loner, but I have my fun. I’m fine with this…” I clenched my fists. “…So don’t force your values on me!

Vardy’s rise was truly remarkable. He’d been released by Sheffield Wednesday as a teenager and completely quit football for seven months, before storming up the footballing pyramid in a manner rarely witnessed, starting at eighth-tier Stocksbridge Park Steels, where his wage was £30 a week. Following a conviction for assault, he played for six months with an electronic tag around his ankle and was forced to observe a home curfew from 6 pm every evening, which meant being substituted midway through the second half at away matches and driving home quickly. Then came a move to seventh-tier Halifax Town for £15,000, while he worked full-time at a factory making carbon-fibre splints. Twenty-nine goals in 41 games earned him a transfer to Fleetwood Town, in the fifth tier of English football. He spent just a season there, because 34 goals in 42 matches meant Leicester were prepared to spend £1m to secure his services – a record for a non-league player.

haven’t written anything much in this diary for the past week. Sorry about that, I’ll make it up to you and get you caught up right now. But first, I’ll tell you my excuse for being lazy and not writing anything. The reason why I haven’t been writing is because I’ve been so busy training nonstop with Alex and the other tier 1s. In fact, we’ve been training so hard that I gained level 39 just yesterday. I know! Super awesome, right? One more level until I can see what the next upgrade is for my class. I’m super excited and can’t wait.

La non-valeur de ce travail [ménager] est induite institutionnellement par le contrat de mariage et que le contrat de mariage est un contrat de travail. Plus précisément c'est un contrat par lequel le chef e famille - le mari - s'approprie tout le travail effectué dans la famille puisqu'il peut le vendre sur le marché comme le sien propre, comme dans le cas de l'artisan ou de l'agriculteur. Inversement le travail de la femme est sans valeur parce qu'il ne peut pas être porté sur le marché, et il ne peut l'être en raison du contrat par lequel sa force de travail est appropriée par son mari. Cependant, le tiers environ des femmes mariées travaillent à l'extérieure. On constate que ceci va de pair avec l'extension de la production industrielle - et donc du salariat - et la diminution de la production familiale, artisanale ou commerciale. Dès lors que la production destinée à l'échange (au marché) est effectuée hors de la famille, sur le mode du salariat, dès lors que l'homme ne vend plus un produit mais son travail, la production marchande ne peut plus incorporer le travail gratuit des femmes. Celui-ci ne peut plus être utilisé que dans la production destinée à l'autoconsommation : la production de services domestiques et d'élevage des enfants. (p. 123-124)

Part I opens the kimono with a hairy entrée into the global megaverse of top-tier management consulting, with these observations: 1. A bloodcurdling litany of betrayal and alcoholism 2. Behind-the-scenes truth about a very powerful, very short man 3. A lighthearted look at global consulting behemoth McKinsey and its resemblance to a certain Renaissance warmonger 4. Why your child will never go to Harvard Business School 5. A consulting hymnal and songbook3

I suppose every culture has them: men in bondage to their own inadequacies, who will never be satisfied because the emptiness is inside them.” “Yes,” Lucas replied. “They’re always there, the misfits. It’s the measure of a leader, which men he picks for the next tier of command…With Hitler it’s the men who were failures in their own eyes before and have a chance to take their revenge on society now.” “Bitter…” Churchill responded. Lucas half turned, looking around him, then back at Churchill. “Where does it stop, this tide of…violence? How long do we wait before we start doing something? When it’s only Germany? When it’s only Germany and Belgium, or Austria, or part of Poland? When it gets into France as well? A bit late by the time it gets to the cliffs of Dover.

Centered in the square carpet of green plastic turf, a Japanese teenager sat behind a C-shaped console, reading a textbook. The white fiberglass coffins were racked in a framework of industrial scaffolding. Six tiers of coffins, ten coffins on a side.

It was a moment where I realized that if we can back down that easily and we can get intimidated, then U.S. Soccer has the upper hand on us at all points in time because it didn’t take that much,” she adds. “We had the courage to say we were going to go on strike, and then, within a few days, we decided, no, we’ll get on the plane and play in Portugal.” During the Algarve Cup, discussions within the team continued and Langel met with U.S. Soccer for negotiations while the players were out of the country. By the time they got back, they were close to a deal with U.S. Soccer that would cover them both in the NWSL and in case the league folded. Striking was still on the table, but the players no longer felt it was necessary. Asked about a strike, U.S. Soccer president Sunil Gulati says he was never made aware that the team was considering it. In the end, the contract the two sides agreed to offered large increases in compensation for the national team. If the NWSL couldn’t get off the ground, salaries would go up between $13,000 and $31,000, depending on each player’s tier. But with the new league in place, salaries would stay almost the same while players would get an extra $50,000 NWSL salary. On top of their guaranteed income, more money than ever was available through performance bonuses and a $1.20 cut of every national team game ticket sold that would be put into a team pool. In the end, the biggest sticking point, however, wasn’t the compensation—it was locking the players into the NWSL. It became a requirement in their national team contract, and there was no backing out if the players didn’t like their club teams.

It's evident which drawing came from which mind," Johnny said with a small grin, and certainly, the pâte de verre flowers and spiraling tiers of Sylvie's cake said "Sugar Fair" as distinctly as the clean lines and elegant piping pointed to De Vere's. "But..." But at the essential level, the cakes were remarkably similar. They had both chosen a stained-glass effect, constructed entirely from blown sugar, each tier designed to catch the light and cast a shimmering cascade of color. Peony poppies, primroses, and petunias glittered within the sugar glass. And on the highest tier, the Midnight Elixir cake, they had both incorporated a trinity knot.

Sylvie flicked her brush over the dragon, leaving a line of glittering pigment on the spiked tail. The edible paint had an oil-slick effect, shimmering from blue to pink to purple to black under the light. "What time do I have to---" Jay began. "Shhh," hissed about fifteen voices at once, as Sylvie picked up the dragon and set it on the lowest tier of the cake. Three layers of rich chocolate cake, covered in mirror glaze icing, marbled blue, purple, and black, with gold paint etched and feathered to replicate the appearance of the sugar dragon's scales. She wound the tail upward, adjusting the long curve to swoop neatly around the top tier, the very tip coming to rest protectively on the sculpted couple who sat on the edge, their legs dangling, tiny sugar ankles entwined. One totally edible princess with long black hair and thick eyeliner. Her endearingly fluffy blond love. And Caractacus, the dragon sentinel from the video game I, Slayer, over which the royal couple had apparently bonded, turning an excruciating first private date into an all-nighter. From curt questions and stammering answers to a beer-drinking, ogre-bashing bonk-fest. Just like all good fairy tales. The Brothers Grimm would be proud.

utterly

Yes, you still look amazing. Is there something above Goddess? High Priestess? Mother of Gods? I don’t know my mythology, but whatever top tier is, that’s you right now. Stunning.” “Laying it on a bit thick, aren’t you?” “I’m only stating the truth.

Sinuous and beautiful fortune-tellers, stagily coifed and ear-ringed and flounced in tiers of yellow and magenta and apple-green, perfunctorily shuffled their cards and proffered them in dog-eared fans as they strolled through the crowds, laying soft-voiced and unrelenting siege to every stranger they met.

A Christian variation of the Greek hero myth infers that Jesus, like the celebrated figures of Dionysus, Orpheus, Heracles (Hercules), and Aeneas, descended (presumably after the Crucifixion) into these “dark pits,” where he “made his proclamation to the imprisoned spirits” (1 Pet. 3: 19; cf. 1 Pet. 4: 6). After having experienced both earthly life and a postmortem descent to the Underworld, Jesus then ascends to the uppermost realm of the three-tier cosmos.

Ư̸̖̦̥͑̌͋̀͘n̷̳̼̙̐̎͌͐̈́̈͜ḵ̶̢̥̬̘̪̯͐͊ͅṇ̶̢̲̌͆͝o̷͇̓̅͐͌̐̄̽̈́w̵͚̤̮̖̋̀͛̂n̸̨͈̜̦̼̙͙̿̏.

It’s only against the law if you get caught.

He had spent probably the last twenty minutes throwing up,

and that spear… it just blew its head off.

And now we have to give him medical attention.

You said to give him a chance.” I shook my head. “And if he fails at his duty even if slightly, then I’ll dispose of him myself.” Regis shivered to my comment but frantically nodded

So I can trust you because you were deemed clinically insane

[̷̨͖̕G̷̤̅ư̵̢̱̂ă̶̹̬ṙ̷̥d̸̩̾i̶̩̝̅a̵͍͗͌n̷̙̦͠ ̶͙̿̾ò̸̡̓f̵͙͔̄ ̵̀ͅţ̵̊̾h̷͔͍͆ȇ̸̮̱̄ ̶̨̾Ț̶̪̂e̴̖̍ṁ̵̘p̷͍̫̓́ĺ̸̺͙̆ḙ̴̛̎.̶̩̪̆͝ ̵͉͒T̵̗́ĭ̷̬́ë̵͎͜r̵̮̈́͠:̷̬͆̿ ̵̦͋S̷̘̘̒S̶̗͙̿̀]̸̧͗͛

In this light, we see TiER1—or any organization—as a living entity that, much like a human organism, has its own character, its own personality, its own set of values, and its own purpose. It grows and changes over time, typically not changing who it is at the core but rather maturing, evolving, learning, inviting people in, and becoming something more. It is imperfect and makes mistakes and is continually in a process of discovery. The organization is a composite of all the people that shape it. Seeing the organization as a living, growing, evolving being helps us give shape to metaphors that are important to an organization’s health (including the concept of health itself ); those metaphors also explain why we exist.

At TiER1, we see ourselves as smart but humble; we take our client work seriously but not ourselves seriously; we laugh easily; we’re passionate and compassionate, willing to struggle together and support each other.

He is a celestial? We have seen plenty of them, Dianna,” Alistair said as he rubbed one hand across his face. Blood stained his skin and clothing from the destruction he’d wreaked downstairs. His normally perfectly combed silver hair had a few strands out of place and was streaked with crimson. “I saw Arariel. He was there. They spoke of Vincent, which means he,” I shook the chair with our bound friend slightly, “works with The Hand.” A grin, sharp and deadly, caressed his features. “You’re lying.” “I’m not,” I said, shaking my head and pushing the chair toward him. “I’ve tasted it. This is Peter McBridge, twenty-seven, second-tier celestial. His parents are retired, and he has no other connections to the mortal world. The fortress is in Arariel. His colleagues talked about us and what we’ve done so far. They spoke about The Hand of Rashearim and even mentioned Vincent.” The guy in the chair stuttered as he craned his head, looking from me to Alistair and back. “How did you see that? How can you know?

Congratulations, you have accepted the ‘High-tier Magic resistance’ Talent. It will become a permanent part of your status and rank up as you use it. It starts at rank 1 and becomes more effective as it ranks up. Think about how you use your Talent’s functions to aid in Talent Development at rank 10.

How Should I Structure My Pricing? Pricing is the biggest lever in SaaS, and almost no one gets it right out of the gate. Fortunately, you don’t need a PhD to structure your pricing well. Like most things in SaaS, finding the right pricing structure is one part theory, one part experimentation, and one part founder intuition. I wish I could tell you a single “correct” structure, but it varies based on your customer base, the value provided, and the competitive landscape. Most founders price their product too low or create confusing tiers that don’t align with the value a customer receives from the product. On the low end, if you have a product aimed at consumers, you can get away with charging $10 to $15 a month. The problem is at that price point, you’re going to be dealing with high churn, and you won’t have much budget to acquire customers. That can be brutal, but if you have a no-touch sign-up process with a product that sells itself, you can get away with it. Castos’s podcasting software and Snappa’s quick graphic design software are good examples of products that do well with a low average revenue per account (ARPA). You’ll have more breathing room (and less churn) if you aim for an ARPA of $50 a month or more. In niche markets—or where a demo is required or sales cycles are longer—aim higher (e.g., $250 a month and up). If you have a high-touch sales process that involves multiple calls, you need to charge enough to justify the cost of selling it. For example, $1,000 a month and up is a reasonable place to start. If you’re making true enterprise sales that require multiple demos and a procurement process, aim for $30,000 a year and up (into six figures). One of the best signals to guide your pricing is other SaaS tools, and I don’t just mean competition. Any SaaS tool a company in your space might replace you with, a complementary tool or a tool similar to yours in a different vertical can offer guidance, but make sure you don’t just compare features; compare how it’s sold. As mentioned above, the sales process has tremendous influence over how a product should be priced. There are so many SaaS tools out now that a survey of competitive and adjacent tools can give you a mental map of the range of prices you can charge. No matter where your business sits, one thing is true: “If no one’s complaining about your price, you’re probably priced too low.

replace the tiered chiffon maxi dress with jeans and a My Chemical Romance T-shirt on clearance. Which, okay. Fine. At least it wasn’t Nickelback.

Finally, in terms of overall spiritual intelligence—which we have been briefly tracking—on the other side of the leading edge of evolution we have 3 or 4 higher, at this point mostly potential, levels of development, including levels of spiritual intelligence. Individually, their basic strcture-rungs are referred to as para-mind, meta-mind, overmind, and supermind; collectively, they are called 3rd tier. What all 3rd-tier structures have in common is some degree of direct transpersonal identity and experience. Further, each 3rd-tier structure of consciousness is integrated, in some fashion, with a particular state of consciousness (often, para-mental with the gross, meta-mental with subtle, overmind with causal/Witnessing, and supermind with nondual, although this varies with each individual’s actual history). Previously, in 1sst and 2nd tier, structures and states were relatively independent. One could have a state center of gravity at gross and yet structurally evolve all the way to Integral without fully objectifying the gross stage (i.e., fully making it an object, fully transcending it). But beginning with the 3rd-tier para-mind, whenever you experience that structure, you also implicitly or intuitively understand or experience the gross realm as objectified, which means that state is intimately connected to the structure at this level, which gives rise, or can give rise, to expanded states such as nature mysticism (this can be experienced at earlier levels but not inherently, and is interpreted according to the Views of those lower levels; but at this level becomes an inherent potential). Likewise, because of the conjunction with the gross state, this level often carries variations of the realization that the physical world is not merely physical, but is rather psychophysical in its true nature. This can also evoke flashes of higher state presences, such as Witnessing states or even nondual. And so on with the subtle state and meta-mind; causal/Witnessing and overmind; and nondual Suchness and supermind. Those states are all “minimally” connected to those structures, in the sesne that, for example, a person at meta-mind might have already and previously moved his or her state center of gravity to subtle, but if not, the person cannot proceed beyond the meta-mind without doing so at this point. And likewise with causal/Witnessing and overmind; and nondual Suchness and supermind.

Was mich betraf, ich war noch Tage krank vor Trauer und fieberte. Ich nehme an, Burrich erzählte, ich hätte irgendeine Kinderkrankheit und so ließ man mich in Frieden. Als ich wieder nach draußen durfte, war es vorbei mit meiner unbeschwerten Freiheit. Burrich beaufsichtigte mich und achtete darauf, dass ich nicht wieder Freundschaft mit einem Tier schloss. Bis zu einem bestimmten Grad hatte er Erfolg, denn es entstand keine besonders enge Verbindung zu einem bestimmten Hund oder Pferd. Ich weiß, er meinte es gut, trotzdem fühlte ich mich von ihm nicht beschützt, sondern eingeengt. Er war der Wärter, der mit fanatischem Eifer meine Isolation überwachte. Damals wurde das Samenkorn der Einsamkeit in meine Seele gepflanzt, schlug Wurzeln, und gedieh zu einem unausrottbaren Teil meines Lebens.

Our daughter is not going to an academy.” I MISS MY SON, her sign had read. “Period. I don’t care if she’s tier one. I don’t care if she’s the first tier zero in history and can manipulate space-time while shooting lasers from her belly button. She is not going to an academy.

Perhaps he can transfer out, he thinks. There are actually many opportunities for a Saypuri here: the Continent is divided into four regions, each of which has its own regional governor; in the next tier below, there are the polis governors, who regulate each major metropolitan area on the Continent; and in the next tier below that are the embassies, which regulate … well, to be honest, Pitry has never been quite sure what the embassies regulate. Something to do with culture, which seems to involve a lot of parties.

Tier 1 and Tier 2 are not the responsibility of either teacher teams or school-wide teams—it takes classroom teachers and schoolwide resources. • When everyone is responsible for interventions, nobody is. For this reason, final responsibility to lead certain interventions must be clearly defined. • When determining who should be responsible for a particular intervention, the school should ask, Who is best trained in this area of need? Look beyond job titles. What does the child need, and who has the skills to address those needs? Do the individuals asked to lead a particular intervention have the time and resources necessary to succeed? Is the intervention fair and reasonable to all involved?

One common mistake that schools make when implementing a tiered intervention program is that they pull students from essential core instruction to provide remediation of prior skills—that is, Tier 2 interventions replace student access to Tier 1 core instruction. When students miss essential core instruction for interventions, they never catch up. This is because while the targeted student is receiving interventions to learn a prior skill, they are missing instruction on a new essential standard. Ask classroom teachers why they don’t like students “pulled out” of their class for interventions, and they will tell you: “Because the student misses what I am teaching now.” For these students, it is one step forward, two steps back.

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business he’d chosen. He was

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The team spent several years working on Glitch, but it never caught on with a mainstream audience. The game was shut down in 2012 due to a lack of traction. Butterfield and his team had spent nearly four years working on a failed project. It was a painful setback—but it wasn’t “game over.” While working on Glitch, the team had built an internal productivity tool to streamline communication, and it was very effective. Instead of shutting down Tiny Speck, Butterfield decided to refocus the company around the productivity tool. They would polish and retool their internal app for external distribution, selling it to other companies with a SAAS (Software as a Service) pricing model. They called the new product Slack. The early traction for Slack was outstanding. In 2014, the company (now also known as Slack) raised $42.8 million in a new round of funding from several top tier venture firms. Later that year, they raised another $120 million, valuing the company at over $1 billion.[33] Your project might fail. But if your project fails, you don’t necessarily need to abandon your underlying passion. It’s like driving. When your car stops running, you don’t give up on the prospect of ever driving again—you get a new car so you can get back on the road. Butterfield knew he had a passion for startups, and he knew that startups were tough. When his vehicle broke down, he didn’t stop driving. He took his broken car to the dump, got a new one (with far more horsepower), and slammed his foot back down on the gas pedal.

Kinder sind wie Tiere. Sie folgen ihren Instinkten, ohne Sinn und Verstand. Sie haben kein Bewusstsein ihrer Taten. Wie gut dressiere Tiere ahmen sie die Taten anderer nach, wiederholen die Wörter und Regeln, die man ihnen vorbetet, ohne sie wirklich zu begreifen. In ihren Instinkten unterscheiden sie sich nicht voneinander. Sie zu benennen ist daher wider ihre Natur. (Tamberian Bork Elluren)

Egg franchise sector is projected to grow at 10% in coming five years The growth of egg franchise sector in India will be increased due to urbanization, changing lifestyle and consumption pattern. Moreover, people demand more luxurious outlets to enjoy with friends and families while eating delicious egg dishes. A plethora of new egg franchise establishments have contributed towards massive development of egg industry. As per experts, the sector is estimated to grow at 10% in forthcoming years may become leading sector to attract more investors. There are numerous evolving trends in egg industry that are contributing to generating futuristic opportunities. Indore based start-up egg franchise brand, Andeywala has produced amazing business model to provide better infrastructure facilities at low investment. Now it becomes easy to start new business with Andeywala. Besides this, sector is expected to provide employment to millions of people, an increased number of egg restaurants will require employees. Tier 1 and tier 2 cities are crowded with food franchises but none of them exclusively egg dishes.

I think more animals will make our town seem even more lively,” I said. “As long as they don’t poop everywhere,” said the mayor. I laughed. “We might have to put you on poop scooping duty,” the mayor joked. “Oh, a harsh punishment, indeed.” But that joke gave me an idea. “Hey, what if we make the prisoners scoop up poop?” The mayor thought for a bit. “Would it be safe?” “We’ll have our tier 1 classes escort them.

As we thought about what would make us both better and different, two core ideas greatly influenced our thinking: First, technical founders are the best people to run technology companies. All of the long-lasting technology companies that we admired—Hewlett-Packard, Intel, Amazon, Apple, Google, Facebook—had been run by their founders. More specifically, the innovator was running the company. Second, it was incredibly difficult for technical founders to learn to become CEOs while building their companies. I was a testament to that. But, most venture capital firms were better designed to replace the founder than to help the founder grow and succeed. Marc and I thought that if we created a firm specifically designed to help technical founders run their own companies, we could develop a reputation and a brand that might vault us into the top tier of venture capital firms despite having no track record. We identified two key deficits that a founder CEO had when compared with a professional CEO: 1. The CEO skill set Managing executives, organizational design, running sales organizations and the like were all important skills that technical founders lacked. 2. The CEO network Professional CEOs knew lots of executives, potential customers and partners, people in the press, investors, and other important business connections. Technical founders, on the other hand, knew some good engineers and how to program.

If the time comes you need to talk about it, you can share anything you need to with me. I won’t judge you--not for anything.” Loretta stiffened. “What could you judge me for?” She pulled away. Rachel averted her face. “Oh, Aunt Rachel, not you, too? Is it a crime to live through something like this and emerge unharmed? I did starve myself. I chose death, just like any self-respecting woman would. But then he promised to bring me home, and I started eating again. He hadn’t harmed me, and I figured--” Loretta broke off. It was clear as rain Aunt Rachel didn’t believe her. “Merciful heaven, would you rather I was dead?” Amy groaned and tossed her head. Lowering her voice, Rachel replied, “No, I wouldn’t rather you were dead!” She lifted trembling hands to her face. “Lord, no. I--oh, Loretta Jane, no. I love you. I just can’t understand. You come home looking fit as a fiddle, claiming they didn’t touch you? I saw you kiss him with my own eyes. And Tom said you shared the Comanche’s bed, that it appeared you were receiving good treatment. I can only wonder what you had to do to survive so you could be here tonight. It’s amazing what we women can live through--the things we’re willing to put up with just to get by. Look at me. Stuck here in this unforgiving land with a man I despise. Do you think having him touch me is pleasant? But I let him and pretend I like it. Without him, where would the three of us be?” Loretta couldn’t answer. For an instant it was like being mute again, her throat felt so tight. She could understand Uncle Henry’s not believing her. He was one tier short of a full cord, anyway, and a body expected him to be an imbecile. But Aunt Rachel? That hurt--a bone-deep hurt that would be a long time in easing. Even if eloquence had been hers, Loretta would have offered no defense. She knew the truth, and that would have to be enough. Aunt Rachel stood up and wiped her palms on her shift. “I’m here if you need an ear. You can count on me.” With that, she left the loft. Loretta wrapped her arms around her knees and gazed out the window at the moonlit yard, remembering another night, a lifetime ago, when Hunter had sat astride his black stallion there, his arm lifted to her in a salute, his fisted hand holding her stolen bloomers. How could it be that a Comanche understood the song her heart sang and her own aunt did not?