Sammi Zheng

近期大爱—微卷中长发

noreply@blogger.com (Sammi) — Mon, 19 Oct 2009 12:09:00 +0000

拯救你有缺陷的眼睛

noreply@blogger.com (Sammi) — Sun, 04 Oct 2009 14:58:00 +0000

小眼睛的大眼妆法:　
a 用黑/深灰色眼线笔在上眼皮眼尾1/2～1/3部分画眼线，用米色珍珠光泽眼影修饰眼头位置；
b 深灰色眼影压在眼线上，再用刷子或指尖薄薄往上晕；
c 夹翘睫毛，刷上纤长效果的黑色睫毛膏，“打开”眼睛的“范围”，眼尾处要多刷几遍；如果你有黑眼圈或者眼袋，就不用再刷下睫毛了；
d 下眼头处涂上白色/银白色眼影/眼彩蜜；提示：用环绕眼眶的粗眼线让小眼睛变大的做法是不可取的，如果你不是80后怪怪美少女，或是为了Party特别营造的妆效，还是不要尝试这种奇怪呆板的画法了。

单眼皮/内双的双眼皮梦想:
a 用深蓝紫色眼影画出外1/2～1/3的下眼线；
b 刷上纤长效果的黑色睫毛膏；
c 双眼皮贴纸自然是不可或缺的秘密武器；
d 将少量孔雀蓝或紫色眼影粉刷在眼尾处即可，晕开的范围不要太大，营造自然的深邃效果；提示：贴双眼皮贴纸时，在眼头起始处贴近眼线，而眼尾处则略为抬高，这样贴出的双眼皮效果更自然。

拯救“眼大无神”:　
a 先用第一部分介绍的方法使用遮瑕品遮盖掉眼袋、黑眼圈及眼周的小瑕疵；
b 用米色珍珠光泽眼影打亮上眼皮，眼周皮肤提亮之后干净均匀，眼睛自然就先有神了5分；
c 夹翘睫毛，刷上黑色纤长睫毛膏；若睫毛稀疏，可先刷一遍浓密型睫毛膏；提示：东方人的睫毛天生并不卷翘，加上又容易有黑眼圈，是令许多人看上去“眼大无神”的主要原因；所以只要打亮眼周皮肤，再刷上卷翘睫毛膏，就不需要更多修饰了。

She Was a Phantom of Delight

noreply@blogger.com (Sammi) — Tue, 30 Dec 2008 05:10:00 +0000

by William Wordsworth (1770 – 1850)

She was a phantom of delight
When first she gleamed upon my sight;
A lovely Apparition, sent
To be a moment's ornament;
Her eyes as stars of Twilight fair;
Like Twilight's, too, her dusky hair;
But all things else about her drawn
From May-time and the cheerful Dawn;
A dancing Shape, an Image gay,
To haunt, to startle, and way-lay.

I saw her upon a nearer view,
A Spirit, yet a Woman too!
Her household motions light and free,
And steps of virgin liberty;
A countenance in which did meet
Sweet records, promises as sweet;
A Creature not too bright or good
For human nature's daily food;
For transient sorrows, simple wiles,
Praise, blame, love, kisses, tears and smiles.

And now I see with eye serene
The very pulse of the machine;
A Being breathing thoughtful breath,
A Traveler between life and death;
The reason firm, the temperate will,
Endurance, foresight, strength, and skill;
A perfect Woman, nobly planned,
To warm, to comfort, and command;
And yet a Spirit still, and bright,
With something of angelic light.

Retrospect

noreply@blogger.com (Sammi) — Tue, 16 Sep 2008 11:51:00 +0000

by Rupert Brooke (1887 - 1915)

In your arms was still delight,
Quiet as a street at night;
And thoughts of you, I do remember,
Were green leaves in a darkened chamber,
Were dark clouds in a moonless sky.
Love, in you, went passing by,
Penetrative, remote, and rare,
Like a bird in the wide air;
And, as the bird, it left no trace
In the heaven of your face.
In your stupidity I found
The sweet hush after a sweet sound.
All about you was the light
That dims the graying end of night;
Desire was the unrisen sun,
Joy the day not yet begun,
With tree whispering to tree,
Without wind, quietly.
Wisdom slept within your hair,
And Long-suffering was there,
And, in the flowing of your dress,
Undiscerning Tenderness.
And when you thought, it seemed to me,
Infinitely, and like a sea,
About the sleight world you had known
Your vast unconsciousness was thrown. . . .

O haven without wave or tide!
Silence, in which all songs have died!
Holy book, where all hearts are still!
And home at length, under the hill!
O mother quiet, breasts of peace,
Where love itself would faint and cease!
O infinite deep I never knew,
I would come back, come back to you;
Find you, as a pool unstirred,
Kneel down by you, and never a word;
Lay my head, and nothing said,
In your hands, ungarlanded.
And a long watch you would keep;
And I should sleep, and I should sleep!

My First Love

noreply@blogger.com (Sammi) — Wed, 13 Aug 2008 16:07:00 +0000

by Wislawa Szymborska (1923 - )

They say
the first love's most important.
That's very romantic,
but not my experience.

Something was and wasn't there between us,
something went on and went away.

My hands never tremble
when I stumble on silly keepsakes
and a sheaf of letters tied with string
— not even ribbon.

Our only meeting after years:
two chairs chatting
at a chilly table.

Other loves
still breathe deep inside me.
This one's too short of breath even to sigh.

Yet just exactly as it is,
it does what the others still can't manage:
unremembered,
not even seen in dreams,
it introduces me to death.

To a Stranger

noreply@blogger.com (Sammi) — Thu, 07 Aug 2008 17:37:00 +0000

by Walt Whitman (1819 - 1892)

Passing stranger! you do not know
How longingly I look upon you,
You must be he I was seeking,
Or she I was seeking
(It comes to me as a dream)

I have somewhere surely
Lived a life of joy with you,
All is recall'd as we flit by each other,
Fluid, affectionate, chaste, matured,

You grew up with me,
Were a boy with me or a girl with me,
I ate with you and slept with you, your body has become
not yours only nor left my body mine only,

You give me the pleasure of your eyes,
face, flesh as we pass,
You take of my beard, breast, hands,
in return,

I am not to speak to you, I am to think of you
when I sit alone or wake at night, alone
I am to wait, I do not doubt I am to meet you again
I am to see to it that I do not lose you.

La Vita Nuova

noreply@blogger.com (Sammi) — Wed, 23 Jul 2008 17:26:00 +0000

by Dante Alighieri (1265 - 1321)

In that book which is
My memory . . .
On the first page
That is the chapter when
I first met you
Appear the words . . .
Here begins a new life

Longing

noreply@blogger.com (Sammi) — Wed, 09 Jul 2008 17:18:00 +0000

by Matthew Arnold (1822 - 1888)

Come to me in my dreams, and then
By day I shall be well again.
For then the night will more than pay
The hopeless longing of the day.

Come, as thou cam'st a thousand times,
A messenger from radiant climes,
And smile on thy new world, and be
As kind to others as to me.

Or, as thou never cam'st in sooth,
Come now, and let me dream it truth.
And part my hair, and kiss my brow,
And say My love! why sufferest thou?

Come to me in my dreams, and then
By day I shall be well again.
For then the night will more than pay
The hopeless longing of the day.

Because She Would Ask Me Why I Loved Her

noreply@blogger.com (Sammi) — Wed, 02 Jul 2008 17:00:00 +0000

by Christopher Brennan (1870-1932)

If questioning would make us wise
No eyes would ever gaze in eyes;
If all our tale were told in speech
No mouths would wander each to each.

Were spirits free from mortal mesh
And love not bound in hearts of flesh
No aching breasts would yearn to meet
And find their ecstasy complete.

For who is there that lives and knows
The secret powers by which he grows?
Were knowledge all, what were our need
To thrill and faint and sweetly bleed?

Then seek not, sweet, the "If" and "Why"
I love you now until I die.
For I must love because I live
And life in me is what you give.

A Red, Red Rose

noreply@blogger.com (Sammi) — Mon, 30 Jun 2008 16:22:00 +0000

by Robert Burns (1759 - 1796)

O my luve's like a red, red rose.
That's newly sprung in June;
O my luve's like a melodie
That's sweetly play'd in tune.

As fair art thou, my bonnie lass,
So deep in luve am I;
And I will love thee still, my Dear,
Till a'the seas gang dry.

Till a' the seas gang dry, my Dear,
And the rocks melt wi' the sun:
I will luve thee still, my Dear,
While the sands o'life shall run.

And fare thee weel my only Luve!
And fare thee weel a while!
And I will come again, my Luve,
Tho' it were ten thousand mile!

i carry your heart

noreply@blogger.com (Sammi) — Fri, 27 Jun 2008 15:23:00 +0000

by E.E. Cummings (1894 - 1962)

i carry your heart with me (i carry it in
my heart)i am never without it (anywhere
i go you go,my dear;and whatever is done
by only me is your doing,my darling)

i fear
no fate (for you are my fate,my sweet) i want
no world (for beautiful you are my world,my true)
and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you

here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows
higher than soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart

i carry your heart (i carry it in my heart)

Love And Life

noreply@blogger.com (Sammi) — Wed, 25 Jun 2008 09:08:00 +0000

by John Wilmot, Earl of Rochester (1647 - 1680)

All my past life is mine no more;
...The flying hours are gone,
Like transitory dreams given o'er,
Whose images are kept in store
...By memory alone.
The time that is to come is not;
...How can it then be mine?
The present moment's all my lot;
And that, as fast as it is got,
...Phyllis, is only thine.

Then talk not of inconstancy,
...False hearts, and broken vows;
If I by miracle can be
This live-long minute true to thee,
...'Tis all that Heaven allows.

The Passionate Shepherd to His Love

noreply@blogger.com (Sammi) — Tue, 24 Jun 2008 15:43:00 +0000

by Christopher Marlowe (1564 - 1593)

Come live with me and be
my Love,
And we will all the pleasures
prove
That hills and valleys, dales and
fields,
Or woods or steepy mountain
yields.

And we will sit upon the rocks,
And see the shepherds feed
their flocks
By shallow rivers, to whose falls
Melodious birds sing madrigals.

And I will make beds of roses
And a thousand fragrant posies;
A cap of flowers, and a kirtle
Embroidered all with of myrtle;

A gown made of the finest wool
Which from our pretty lambs we pull;
Fair-lined slippers for the cold,
With buckles of the purest gold;

A belt of straw and ivy buds
With coral clasps and amber studs-
And if these pleasures may move,
Come live with me and by my Love.

The shepherd swains shall dance and sing
For delight each May morning-
If these delights mind may move,
Then live with me and be my Love.

To My Dear and Loving Husband

noreply@blogger.com (Sammi) — Mon, 23 Jun 2008 12:54:00 +0000

Anne Bradstreet (1612 - 1672)

If ever two were one, then surely we.
If ever man were lov’d by wife, then thee.
If ever wife was happy in a man,
Compare with me, ye women, if you can.
I prize thy love more than whole Mines of gold
Or all the riches that the East doth hold.

My love is such that Rivers cannot quench,
Nor ought but love from thee give recompetence.
Thy love is such I can no way repay.
The heavens reward thee manifold, I pray.
Then while we live, in love let’s so persever
That when we live no more, we may live ever.

When I Have Fears That I May Cease To Be

noreply@blogger.com (Sammi) — Sun, 22 Jun 2008 18:20:00 +0000

by John Keats (1795 - 1821)

When I have fears that I may cease to be
Before my pen has glean'd my teeming brain,
Before high-piled books, in charactery,
Hold like rich garners the full ripen'd grain;
When I behold, upon the night's starr'd face,
Huge cloudy symbols of a high romance,
And think that I may never live to trace
Their shadows, with the magic hand of chance;

And when I feel, fair creature of an hour,
That I shall never look upon thee more,
Never have relish in the faery power
Of unreflecting love;--then on the shore
Of the wide world I stand alone, and think
Till love and fame to nothingness do sink.

She Walks In Beauty

noreply@blogger.com (Sammi) — Sat, 21 Jun 2008 14:38:00 +0000

By George Gordon, Lord Byron (1788 - 1824)

She walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that's best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes:
Thus mellow'd to that tender light
Which heaven to gaudy day denies.

One shade the more, one ray the less,
Had half impair'd the nameless grace
Which waves in every raven tress,
Or softly lightens o'er her face;
Where thoughts serenely sweet express
How pure, how dear their dwelling-place.

And on that cheek, and o'er that brow,
So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,
The smiles that win, the tints that glow,
But tell of days in goodness spent,
A mind at peace with all below,
A heart whose love is innocent!

Life in a Love

noreply@blogger.com (Sammi) — Fri, 20 Jun 2008 17:56:00 +0000

by Robert Browning (1812-1889)

Escape me?
Never—
Beloved!
While I am I, and you are you,
So long as the world contains us both,
Me the loving and you the loth,
While the one eludes, must the other pursue.
My life is a fault at last, I fear—
It seems too much like a fate, indeed!
Though I do my best I shall scarce succeed—
But what if I fail of my purpose here?

It is but to keep the nerves at strain,
To dry one's eyes and laugh at a fall,
And baffled, get up to begin again,—
So the chase takes up one's life, that's all.
While, look but once from your farthest bound,
At me so deep in the dust and dark,
No sooner the old hope drops to ground
Than a new one, straight to the selfsame mark,
I shape me—
Ever
Removed!