"做手工“用英语怎么说

“做手工”：make handwork  

handwork    英['hændwɜ:k]    美['hændˌwɜ:k]    

n.    手工（尤指相对于机械）; 手工活;  

[例句]Print is the combination of drawing and handwork.

版画是图画和手工的结合物。

例句：

1. The farm woman's hands were rough with hand work.

这个农妇常干粗活,手很粗糙.

2. Rose is skillful neat and tidy, always good at hand work.

罗丝总是整齐利落,手底下特别麻利.

3. They seize upon whatever is at hand, work out their problem, and masterthe situation.

他们会抓住一切手边的机会, 解决遇到的难题, 并且自己掌控局面.

4. The liquid measure in taker car was still relied on hand work at present.

槽车在灌装、卸载过程中需要对车内液体液位进行检测,目前,液位检测仍然靠人工进行.

5. This new machine will emancipate us from all the hand work we once hadto do.

这部新机器把我们从过去不得不干的繁重劳动中解脱出来.

seize the day是什么意思

意思是珍惜今天。

seize

单词发音：英[siːz]美[siːz]

及物动词、不及物动词，作及物动词时意为“抓住；夺取；理解；逮捕”，作不及物动词时意为“抓住；利用；（机器）卡住”。

短语搭配：

seize opportunities抓住机遇 ; 捉住机会

Seize food虎口夺食

seize upon抓住 ; 利用

seize property扣押财产

Fruit Seize水果砸砸砸 ; 保护果园

seize children抓住孩子 ; 抓住儿童 ; 占领孩子

例句：

The opportunity is there. Why not seize it?

机会正在那儿呢，为什么不抓住它？

扩展资料：

seize the day,carpe diem，抓住今天，及时行乐

carpe diem 是拉丁文，翻译成英语是seize the day，意为活在当下，抓紧时间，不忘初心。但是从拉丁语的字面意思来理解，翻译成“抓住现在”更为准确，抓住现在的每一瞬间就不单指的是及时行乐，还意味着要为了未来而牢牢地抓住“现在”。

在电影《死亡诗社》（Dead Poets Society）里面基丁（Keating）先生在上第一节课让学生倾听过去的时候说的。《死亡诗社》宣扬的是这样一种失去的生活状态：勇敢的年轻的心应该知道自己想做什么，并为之付出坚持不懈的努力。

求雪莱《论爱》英文原版~

WHAT is Love? Ask him who lives, what is life; ask him who adores, what is God?

I know not the internal constitution of other men, nor even thine, whom I now address. I see that in some external attributes they resemble me, but when, misled by that appearance, I have thought to appeal to something in common, and unburthen my inmost soul to them, I have found my language misunderstood, like one in a distant and savage land. The more opportunities they have afforded me for experience, the wider has appeared the interval between us, and to a greater distance have the points of sympathy been withdrawn. With aspirit ill fitted to sustain such proof, trembling and feeble through its tenderness, I have everywhere sought sympathy, and have found only repulse and disappointment.

Thou demandest what is Love. It is that powerful attraction towards all we conceive, or fear, or hope beyond ourselves, when we find within our own thoughts the cha** of an insufficient void, and seek to awaken in all things that are, a community with what we experience within ourselves. If we reason, we would be understood; if we imagine, we would that the airy children of our brain were born anew within another's; if we feel, we would that another's nerves should vibrate to our own, that the beams of their eyes should kindle at once and mix and melt into our own; that lips of motionless ice should not reply to lips quivering and burning with the heart's best blood. This is Love. This is the bond and the sanction which connects not only man with man, but with every thing which exists. We are born into the world, and there is something within us which, from the instant that we live, more and more thirsts after its likeness. It is probably in correspondence with this law that the infant drains milk from the bosom of its mother; this propensity developes itself with the developement of our nature. We dimly see within our intellectual nature a miniature as it were of our entire self, yet deprived of all that we condemn or despise, the ideal prototype of every thing excellent and lovely that we are capable of conceiving as belonging to the nature of man. Not only the portrait of our external being, but an assemblage of the minutest particles of which our nature is composed;* a mirror whose surface reflects only the forms of purity and brightness; a soul within our own soul that describes a circle around its proper Paradise, which pain and sorrow and evil dare not overleap. To this we eagerly refer all sensations, thirsting that they should resemble or correspond with it. The discovery of its antitype; the meeting with an understanding capable of clearly estimating our own; an imagination which should enter into and seize upon the subtle and delicate peculiarities which we have delighted to cherish and unfold in secret; with a frame whose nerves, like the chords of two exquisite lyres, strung to the accompaniment of one delightful voice, vibrate with the vibrations of our own; and of a combination of all these in such proportion as the type within demands; this is the invisible and unattainable point to which Love tends; and to attain which, it urges forth the powers of man to arrest the faintest shadow of that, without the possession of which there is no rest nor respite to the heart over which it rules. Hence in solitude, or in that deserted state when we are surrounded by human beings, and yet they sympathize not with us, we love the flowers, the grass, the waters, and the sky. In the motion of the very leaves of spring, in the blue air, there is then found a secret correspondence with our heart. There is eloquence in the tongueless wind, and a melody in the flowing brooks and the rustling of the reeds beside them, which by their inconceivable relation to something within the soul, awaken the spirits to a dance of breathless rapture, and bring tears of mysterious tenderness to the eyes, like the enthusia** of patriotic success, or the voice of one beloved singing to you alone. Sterne says that if he were in a desert he would love some cypress. So soon as this want or power is dead, man becomes the living sepulchre of himself, and what yet survives is the mere husk of what once he was.