刘晓杰： 2025-08-11 16:18:38

国家网信办等机构也宣布了一系列治理划定，旨在规范人工智能天生、合成、使用，以；す诶
。

冯珠： 2025-08-11 16:18:40

　　新冠肺炎疫情爆发后，达州高新区坚持疫情防控和经济社会生长两手抓、两增进，正全力向达产、满产、超产迈进
。

Halldóra： 2025-08-11 16:18:44

第二階段（2018年7月11日至2018年10月17日），以拉擡股價為主，案涉賬戶組持股總數、持流通股數占比分別上升至4.05%、5.03%

Schwarzkopf： 2025-08-11 16:18:15

David Rockefeller, the banker and philanthropist with the fabled family name who controlled Chase Manhattan bank for more than a decade and wielded vast influence around the world for even longer as he spread the gospel of American capitalism, died on Monday morning at his home in Pocantico Hills, N. Y. He was 101. His son David Jr. confirmed the death. Chase Manhattan had long been known as the Rockefeller bank, although the family never owned more than 5 percent of its shares. But Mr. Rockefeller was more than a steward. As chairman and chief executive throughout the 1970s, he made it “David’s bank,” as many called it, expanding its operations internationally. His stature was greater than any corporate title might convey, however. His influence was felt in Washington and foreign capitals, in the corridors of New York City government, in art museums, in great universities and in public schools. Mr. Rockefeller could well be the last of a less and less visible family to have cut so imposing a figure on the world stage. As a peripatetic advocate of the economic interests of the United States and of his own bank, he was a force in global financial affairs and in his country’s foreign policy. He was received in foreign capitals with the honors accorded a chief of state. He was the last surviving grandson of John D. Rockefeller, the tycoon who founded the Standard Oil Company in the 19th century and built a fortune that made him America’s first billionaire and his family one of the richest and most powerful in the nation’s history. As an heir to that legacy, David Rockefeller lived all his life in baronial splendor and privilege, whether in Manhattan (when he was a boy, he and his brothers would roller skate along Fifth Avenue trailed by a limousine in case they grew tired) or at his magnificent country estates. Imbued with the understated manners of the East Coast elite, he loomed large in the upper reaches of a New York social world of glittering galas. His philanthropy was monumental, and so was his art collection, a museumlike repository of some 15, 000 pieces, many of them masterpieces, some lining the walls of his offices 56 floors above the streets at Rockefeller Center, to which he repaired, robust and active, well into his 90s. In silent testimony to his power and reach was his Rolodex, a catalog of some 150, 000 names of people he had met as a . It required a room of its own beside his office. Spread out below that corporate aerie was a city he loved and influenced mightily. He was instrumental in rallying the private sector to help resolve New York City’s fiscal crisis in the . As chairman of the Museum of Modern Art for many years — his mother had helped found it in 1929 — he led an effort to encourage corporations to buy and display art in their office buildings and to subsidize local museums. And as chairman of the New York City Partnership, a coalition of business executives, he fostered innovation in public schools and the development of thousands of apartments for and families. He was always aware of the mystique surrounding the Rockefeller name. “I have never found it a hindrance,” he once said with typical reserve. “Obviously, there are times when I’m aware that I’m treated differently. There’s no question that having financial resources, which, thanks to my parents, I learned to use with some restraint and discretion, is a big advantage. ” With his powerful name and his zeal for foreign travel — he was still going to Europe into his late 90s — Mr. Rockefeller was a formidable marketing force. In the 1970s, his meetings with Anwar of Egypt, Leonid Brezhnev of the Soviet Union and Zhou Enlai of China helped Chase Manhattan become the first American bank with operations in those countries. “Few people in this country have met as many leaders as I have,” he said. Some faulted him for spending so much time abroad. He was accused of neglecting his responsibilities at Chase and failing to promote aggressive, visionary managers. Under his leadership, Chase fell far behind its rival Citibank, then the nation’s largest bank, in assets and earnings. There were years when Chase had the most troubled loan portfolio among major American banks. “In my judgment, he will not go down in history as a great banker,” John J. McCloy, a Rockefeller friend and himself a former Chase chairman, told The Associated Press in 1981. “He will go down as a real personality, as a distinguished and loyal member of the community. ” Mr. Rockefeller’s forays into international politics also drew criticism, notably in 1979, when he and former Secretary of State Henry A. Kissinger persuaded President Jimmy Carter to admit the recently deposed shah of Iran into the United States for cancer treatment. The shah’s arrival in New York enraged revolutionary followers of Ayatollah Ruhollah Khomeini, provoking them to seize the United States Embassy in Iran and hold American diplomats hostage for more than a year. Mr. Rockefeller was also assailed for befriending autocratic foreign leaders in an effort to establish and expand his bank’s presence in their countries. “He spent his life in the club of the ruling class and was loyal to members of the club, no matter what they did,” the New York Times columnist David Brooks wrote in 2002, citing the profitable deals Mr. Rockefeller had cut with “ dictators,” “Soviet party bosses” and “Chinese perpetrators of the Cultural Revolution. ” Still, presidents as ideologically different as Mr. Carter and Richard M. Nixon offered him the post of Treasury secretary. He turned them both down. After the death in 1979 of his older brother Nelson A. Rockefeller, the former vice president and governor of New York, David Rockefeller stood almost alone as a member of the family with an outsize national profile. Only Jay Rockefeller, a of John D. Rockefeller, had earned prominence, as a governor and United States senator from West Virginia. No one from the family’s younger generations has attained or perhaps aspired to David Rockefeller’s stature. “No one can step into his shoes,” Warren T. Lindquist, a longtime friend, told The Times in 1995, “not because they aren’t good, smart, talented people, but because it’s just a different world. ” The youngest of six siblings, David Rockefeller was born in Manhattan on June 12, 1915. His father, John D. Rockefeller Jr. the only son of the oil titan, devoted his life to philanthropy. His mother, Abby Aldrich Rockefeller, was the daughter of Nelson Aldrich, a wealthy senator from Rhode Island. Besides Nelson, born in 1908, the other children were Abby, who was born in 1903 and died in 1976 after leading a private life John D. Rockefeller III, who was born in 1906 and immersed himself in philanthropy until his death in an automobile accident in 1978 Laurance, born in 1910, who was an environmentalist and died in 2004 and Winthrop, born in 1912, who was governor of Arkansas and died in 1973. David grew up in a mansion at 10 West 54th Street, the largest private residence in the city at the time. It bustled with valets, parlor maids, nurses and chambermaids. For dinner every night, his father dressed in black tie and his mother in a formal gown. Summers were spent at the Rockefeller “cottage” in Seal Harbor, Me. and weekends at Kykuit, the family’s country compound north of New York City in Tarrytown, N. Y. The estate was likened to a feudal fief. As Mr. Rockefeller wrote in his autobiography, “Memoirs” (2002) “Eventually the family accumulated about 3, 400 acres that surrounded and included almost all of the little village of Pocantico Hills, where most of the residents worked for the family and lived in houses owned by Grandfather. ” In that bucolic setting, he developed a fascination for insects that would lead to his building one of the largest beetle collections in the world. David was 21 when John D. Rockefeller died. “He told amusing stories and sang little ditties,” Mr. Rockefeller recalled in 2002. “He gave us dimes. ” Mr. Rockefeller’s sense of noblesse oblige was heightened by his early education at the experimental Lincoln School in Manhattan, founded by the American philosopher John Dewey and financed by the Rockefeller Foundation to bring together children from varied social backgrounds. He went on to study at Harvard, receiving his bachelor’s degree in 1936, and then spent a year at the London School of Economics, a hotbed of socialist intellectuals. Mr. Rockefeller was awarded a Ph. D. in economics from the University of Chicago in 1940. Moved by the Great Depression at home and abroad, he stated in his doctoral thesis that he was “inclined to agree with the New Deal that deficit financing during depressions, other things being equal, is a help to recovery. ” The notion that a Rockefeller would take such a liberal economic view was major news the family, Republican, was known for its fierce opposition to President Franklin D. Roosevelt, the New Deal’s author. After receiving his doctorate, Mr. Rockefeller became a secretary to Fiorello H. La Guardia, New York’s pugnacious, liberal Republican mayor. In 1940, he married Margaret McGrath, known as Peggy, whom he had met at a dance seven years earlier, when he was a Harvard freshman and she was a student at the Chapin School in New York. His wife, a dedicated conservationist, died at 80 in 1996. Besides his son David, he is survived by his daughters, Abby Rockefeller, Neva Goodwin, Peggy Dulany and Eileen Growald 10 grandchildren and 10 . Another son, Richard, died in 2014 at 65 when the small plane he was piloting crashed shortly after takeoff from Westchester County Airport. Mr. Rockefeller enlisted in the Army in 1942, attended officer training school and served in North Africa and France during World War II. He was discharged a captain in 1945. He began his banking career in 1946 as an assistant manager with the Chase National Bank, which merged in 1955 with the Bank of Manhattan Company to become Chase Manhattan. Banking in the early postwar era was a gentleman’s profession. Top executives could attend to outside interests, using social contacts to cultivate clients while leaving management to junior officers. Mr. Rockefeller found plenty of time for such activities. In the late 1940s, he replaced his mother on the Museum of Modern Art’s board and eventually became its chairman. He courted art collectors. In 1968, he put together a syndicate, including his brother Nelson and the CBS chairman, William S. Paley, to buy Gertrude Stein’s collection of modern art. David and Peggy Rockefeller’s own prized paintings — by Cézanne, Gauguin, Matisse, Picasso — were lent to the museum permanently. Mr. Rockefeller’s rise in banking was swift. By 1961, he was president of Chase Manhattan and its executive with George Champion, the chairman. Promoting expansion overseas, Mr. Rockefeller clashed with Mr. Champion, who thought that the bank’s domestic business was more important. After Mr. Rockefeller replaced Mr. Champion as chairman and sole chief executive in 1969, he was able to enlarge the bank’s presence on almost every continent. He said his brand of personal diplomacy, meeting with heads of state, was crucial in furthering Chase’s interests. “There were many who claimed these activities were inappropriate and interfered with my bank responsibilities,” Mr. Rockefeller wrote in his autobiography. “I couldn’t disagree more. ” His “ outside activities,” he insisted, “were of considerable benefit to the bank both financially and in terms of its prestige around the world. ” By 1976, Chase Manhattan’s international arm was contributing 80 percent of the bank’s $105 million in operating profit. But instead of vindicating Mr. Rockefeller’s avidity for banking abroad, those figures underlined Chase’s lagging performance at home. From 1974 to 1976, its earnings fell 36 percent while those of its biggest rivals — Bank of America, Citibank, Manufacturers Hanover and J. P. Morgan — rose 12 to 31 percent. The 1974 recession hammered Chase, which had an unusually large portfolio of loans in the depressed real estate industry. It also owned more New securities than any other bank in the when the city was edging toward bankruptcy. And among major banks, Chase had the largest portfolio of nonperforming loans. Chase also got caught up in a scandal in 1974. An internal audit discovered that its bond trading account was overvalued by $34 million and that losses had been understated. A resulting $15 million drain in net income tarnished the bank’s image. In 1975, the Federal Reserve and the comptroller of the currency branded Chase a “problem” bank. Even as he struggled to reverse Chase Manhattan’s decline, Mr. Rockefeller found time to address New York City’s financial problems. His involvement in municipal affairs dated to the early 1960s, when, as founder and chairman of the Manhattan Association, he recommended that a World Trade Center be built. In 1961, largely at his instigation, Chase opened its headquarters in the Wall Street area, a huge investment that helped revitalize the financial district and encouraged the World Trade Center project to proceed. In the with New York City facing a default on its debts because of sluggish economic growth and uncontrolled municipal spending, Mr. Rockefeller helped bring together federal, state and city officials with New York business leaders to work out an economic plan that eventually pulled the city out of its crisis. At the same time, he put his bank’s affairs in order. By 1981, he and his protégé Willard C. Butcher had restored Chase Manhattan to full health. He yielded his chairmanship to Mr. Butcher that year. From 1976 to 1980, the bank’s earnings more than doubled, and it outperformed its archrival, Citibank, in returns on assets, a critical indicator of a bank’s profitability. Even after retiring from active management in 1981, Mr. Rockefeller continued to serve Chase as chairman of its international advisory council and to act as the bank’s foreign diplomat. He did not hesitate to criticize United States officials for policies he considered mistaken. He was notably harsh about President Carter. In 1980, he told The Washington Post that Mr. Carter had not done “what most other countries do themselves, and expect us to do — namely, to make U. S. national interests our prime international objective. ” But Mr. Rockefeller also played the gadfly to Mr. Carter’s far more conservative successor, President Ronald Reagan. While the Reagan administration was supporting guerrillas in Africa, Mr. Rockefeller took a tour of the continent in 1982 and declared that African Marxism was not a threat to the United States or to American business interests. Late in life, Mr. Rockefeller was involved in controversies over Rockefeller Center, the Art Deco office building complex his father built in the 1930s. In 1985, the Rockefeller family mortgaged the property for $1. 3 billion, pocketing an estimated $300 million. In 1989, the family sold 51 percent of the Rockefeller Group, which owned Rockefeller Center and other buildings, to the Mitsubishi Estate Company of Japan. Mitsubishi later increased its share to 80 percent. The purchase represented the high tide of a buying spree of American properties by Japanese corporations, and it opened the family to criticism that it had surrendered an important national symbol to them. When Japan’s economic bubble burst in the early 1990s and Mitsubishi was forced to declare Rockefeller Center in bankruptcy in 1995, Mr. Rockefeller was criticized again, this time for allowing the site to slip into financial ruin. Before the year ended, Mr. Rockefeller put together a syndicate that bought control of Rockefeller Center. Then, in 2000, it was sold in a $1. 85 billion deal that severed the center’s last ties with the Rockefeller family. As an octogenarian, Mr. Rockefeller, whose fortune was estimated in 2012 at $2. 7 billion, increasingly devoted himself to philanthropy, donating tens of millions of dollars in particular to Harvard, the Museum of Modern Art and the Rockefeller University, which John D. Rockefeller Sr. founded in 1901. Even in his 90s, David Rockefeller continued to work at a pace that would tire a much younger person. He spent more than half the year traveling on behalf of Chase or groups like the Council on Foreign Relations and the Trilateral Commission. In 2005, when he was interviewed in his offices at Rockefeller Center, he remained physically active, working with a trainer at the center’s sports club. He continued to collect art, including hundreds of paintings as well as furniture and works in colored glass, porcelain and petrified wood. That same year, he pledged a $100 million bequest to the Museum of Modern Art. Such giving became grist for the society pages. One gala at the museum in 2005 drew 850 people paying as much as $90, 000 for a table. The occasion was Mr. Rockefeller’s 90th birthday, and at the end of the evening, he was presented with a birthday cake modeled after his house in Maine. Then it was off to a week in southern France to continue the celebration with 21 members of his family. With the book “Memoirs” in 2002, he became, at age 87, the first in three generations of Rockefellers to publish an autobiography. Asked why he wrote it, he replied in his characteristic reserved tone, “Well, it just occurred to me that I had led a rather interesting life. ”

杨春辉： 2025-08-11 16:18:06

This is part of a series of articles devoted to summer vacations that had an enduring impact on a writer’s life. Other contributors include Sara Novic, Dominique Browning, Francine Prose and Jacqueline Woodson. In the late 1920s when the British poet Robert Graves asked Gertrude Stein to recommend somewhere to live that was not England, she advised him to move to Majorca. “It’s paradise,” she said, “if you can bear it. ” He could bear it and made the mountain village of Deia, 22 miles northwest of the capital, Palma, his home for the rest of his life. I often think about Stein’s cryptic comment when I recall my first vacation in this same village 30 years ago. I was 27 and living in London, and my new English boyfriend was approaching 40. I was excited about getting to know more about him in paradise for two weeks, but it would have been wiser to know less. On the third day of our vacation, my boyfriend declared that he had sunstroke. He was sweating profusely while we watched a tiny winged creature suck nectar from a flower. He said, that’s a hummingbird, and I said, no, it’s a bumblebee then he felt faint and needed to lie down in a dark room. All the rooms were dark in our European pensione because the formidable owner of this establishment, her name was Isobel, insisted we keep the battered green wooden shutters closed during the day. There was no and it was a sweltering August. According to Isobel, the three lazy brown hens that sat clucking all day under the shade of the lemon trees in the garden next door had stopped laying eggs because of the heat. Therefore she had taken eggs off the breakfast menu and replaced them with two plums instead. My companion was pleased the hens had gone on strike because he loathed eggs. I noticed that he starved himself during the day — “to keep his boyish figure” — and saved his money for a hearty evening dinner. What we liked to eat most in this tranquil Majorcan village, framed by the mountains — the Serra de Tramuntana, which turned pink and gold at sunset — was grilled dorado served with dill, capers and bitter olive oil. We reserved the same table every night on the terrace of one particular restaurant. It had a view of the olive trees and the blazing purple bougainvillea that grew on the pretty Majorcan houses in the valley, all of them built from stone. While my boyfriend squeezed lemon onto his fish, he talked to me about parallel worlds and alternative realities. It was part science, part science fiction — and part something entirely personal to him. He laughed in a sophisticated and knowing manner when he explained to me how inferior he found the world in which he was obliged to earn money and pay the bills. He explained how parallel worlds coexist in the same space and time as our own universe and how he thought he had another life in one of those universes. I was in love with him and only half listening. It might be that to totally listen to him would undo the love and ruin my vacation. As we strolled back to our pensione after dinner, a sudden gust of hot wind blew sand and small insects into my eyes. In that moment, as I was temporarily blinded, he asked me to marry him. I pretended not to hear him, but when I could see again, the stars seemed extra bright in the night sky, the palm trees silver and ghostly, like another universe. I noted that we were very well matched when we played table tennis at the local bar. The owner of this bar had set up the table under the shade of a big old tree on which grew abundant clusters of scented white blossoms. We whizzed about with our little paddles, dodging the overhanging leaves and blossoms and wasps as we chased the ball and slammed it back to each other. I broke off a stem of the blossom and took it to our hotel room. After a while the scent was so overwhelming that I threw it out the window. On the days we had the energy to walk a mile through the lemon and olive orchards to the beach, we always swam together. Never solo. One of us would say, let’s go in, and we’d swim out for a while and then climb onto a flat rock that felt like a small private island, though it was not far from the shore. One morning as we were lazing in each other’s arms on this rock, the sea lapping beneath us, I saw a man standing on a smaller rock nearby. He was scooping up sea urchins and placing them in a yellow string bag he had tied to the waistband of his shorts. At the same time, my companion was telling me about an who had accompanied him on a road trip to America 20 years earlier. Apparently, the whole Jack Kerouac legend was very much alive inside him in his younger days. In fact, all the beatnik boys in his hometown outside London wanted to be Jack. He wanted to be Jack, too. I pressed my toes against the soft moss that grew on the side of the rock and idly wondered if my boyfriend had Jack’s talent. For example, was he up all night typing spontaneous prose on an endless roll of paper until he got to The End? Was he in the running to have a School of Disembodied Poetics named after him? I returned to the task of not understanding why he talked about himself only through his and parallel worlds. That was not a good sign, but I wanted to ignore all the signs, so I shifted my attention back to the man who was collecting sea urchins. He had a cut on his knee, but he was happy in the sunshine, jumping between rocks to scoop up the spiky urchins. I liked watching him because he was mucking about in the present tense while my boyfriend talked about the past. THE SALTY MEDITERRANEAN SEA has always been my particular pleasure. Especially in this bay where the water was so clear and cool. So I dived in from our special flat rock, a complicated maneuver involving precise judgment — I had to avoid the smaller sharp rocks nearby — and did a little flip under the water with my eyes open. When I surfaced, the man collecting sea urchins beckoned me over to take a look at the ball of black needles in his hand. He said the urchin was a delicacy, like caviar, much relished by sea otters and starfish. I expressed surprise at a starfish eating an urchin without being stung by its sharp spines, but he explained that the star lay on top of the urchin and smothered it. “I am going to let you taste this one,” he said, “but first we have to crack into it. ” The urchin man took out a pair of scissors he kept in the yellow string bag and cut into the shell. His fingers plunged inside the urchin and then he passed me the slimy orange sac that lurked within it. It was impolite not to accept the urchin roe after all that work, so I pretended it was an oyster and popped it into my mouth with incredible nonchalance. It was sweet and tasted of the ocean. I thanked the man, flipped back into the sea and swam back to the flat rock where my companion was staring at the sky, as if interrogating its blue immensity for parallel universes. The next day I went off on my hired moped to explore the pine forests in the mountains, while my boyfriend stayed in the pensione so he could lie on his back to realign his spine and calm his mind. When I returned (carrying three small green pine cones for him) he told me he had an who designed a log cabin in a pine forest. She was also a model. I wondered if he was bragging because I had pretended not to hear his marriage proposal? We made our way to the terrace of the pensione and sat with Isobel at her table under a fig tree. She liked to crochet while her pregnant poodle lay on her lap, and she always sat on her special patroness chair, a throne made from straw, facing the ocean. A Swedish couple who were staying at the pensione walked onto the terrace with their ice blond son. He was holding a small fish he had caught that day — it was slightly larger than a sardine. For some reason, he threw the fish at one of the cactuses that had been planted in a pot on the terrace. It missed and landed on the ground, whereupon the pregnant poodle jumped off Isobel’s lap and started to poke the silver fish with her paw. Isobel shouted something in Spanish and waved her hands at my boyfriend, as if she wanted him to do something. I saw that the forlorn fish still had a sharp hook embedded in its mouth, so I ran toward the plump gray poodle and removed it from her paw. When I looked up, my boyfriend was brushing his hair. “This has happened before,” he said. “This has happened in a parallel universe. ” The poodle started to whimper. I stared at the hairbrush. Would it float above his head and tap the warm air, searching for a seam to rip open another reality? The next day I changed my airplane ticket and headed, solo, to London. It was cold and it was raining. Despite its being August, everyone who was in town and not on vacation had turned on their heating. I was so happy to be home. Majorca was paradise but I could not bear it.

滕鹅： 2025-08-11 16:18:45

公司名称：卡通沙龙动画事情室外文名称：Cartoon Saloon建设时间：1999年总部所在：爱尔兰基尔肯尼首创人：汤姆·摩尔、Paul Young、诺拉·托梅动画作品：《凯尔经的秘