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�?弟急著想畫出下圖，在這�?�?��?��?大牛求救了。

�?好�?�?，剛�?發錯了，圖片沒出來。在這�?補上.[img]http://eed.xmu.edu.cn/myfile/lucian118/f256547df4e4e8eb259abd6ecb9aef44.jpg[img][/img]

�?好�?�?，剛�?發錯了，圖片沒出來。在這�?補上.

这个图,�?�以用LOFT(放样)�?��?�.

首先画出横界�?�,然�?�建立一根直线,放样.

之�?�修改属性,缩放�?�形和扭曲,就�?�以了.

有问题�?�以跟帖

谢谢，我试试看先。

现在�?�现一个问题，这个螺旋体的�?根棒都的弯曲程度是�?一样的，这样的�?，怎么作扭曲或�?�形。是一根一根的改�?�？

我的技术还�?行，还没画出�?�。我是这样按照楼上大牛的办法作图，看看问题处在哪？
1. 画横截�?�图：在顶视图中，画圆圈。画出足够多的圆，并让这些圆以六方排列。
2. 画一直线
3.放样。此时出现问题，�?�现放样时，一次�?�能对一个圆圈和直线�?作，而�?是一次性放样，然�?�得到六方棱柱体。
4.这样�?��?�的�?作就没法�?�了。
我用自己的方法，已�?�?�以画出图中的a图。是这么�?�的：
先画出一根圆柱体，然�?�一维阵列�?10根；接下�?��?�?�一根，�?一维阵列�?11根;此�?��?次递增至19根，�?用�?�样的方法递�?至回到�??根圆柱体。之�?�用选择移动，把图中的圆柱体排列�?六方排列。�?�横截�?�图�?正六边形排列。
但是如果此时对�?根圆柱体进行扭曲�?�形，�?�现对于�?一行的阵列得到得圆柱体，�?��?改动一根�?�数，其他的�?之改�?�。
因为图中螺旋体的�?根棒的弯曲度�?一样。现在是这么认为的，最中间那根没有弯曲或螺旋，然�?�以它为中心，以�?离它的�?�径r的增大而弯曲程度在增大，直至到最边上那根棒的螺旋弯曲程度是最大的。
感谢楼上的支�?，希望能一起�?多多探讨。

多画些管�?�横截�?�,并且�?�?�并在一起的�?�

楼上是说在画图A——六方棱柱体时按照你得方法画？

现在基本上�?�以画出图b，谢谢大家的支�?，�?过还有些细节的问题估计还需�?大家的支�?。

这是什么东东啊

没看懂

HAPPILY lived Mankind in the peaceful Valley of Ignorance.

To the north, to the south, to the west and to the east stretched the ridges of the Hills Everlasting.

A little stream of Knowledge trickled slowly through a deep worn gully.

It came out of the Mountains of the Past.

It lost itself in the Mashes of the Future.

It was not much, as rivers go. But it was enough for the humble needs of the villagers.

In the evening, when they had watered their cattle and had filled their casks, they were content to sit down to enjoy life.wow gold,

The Old Men Who Knew were brought forth from the shady corners where they had spent their day, pondering over the mysterious pages of an old book.

They mumbled strange words to their grandchildren, who would have preferred to play with the pretty pebbles, brought down from distant lands.

Often these words were not very clear.

But they were written a thousand years ago by a forgotten race. Hence they were holy.

For in the Valley of Ignorance, whatever was old was venerable. And, those who dared to gainsay the wisdom of the fathers, were shunned by all decent people.

And so they kept their peace.

Fear was ever with them. What if they should be refused the common share of the products of the garden?

Vague stories there were, whispered at night among the narrow streets of the little town, vague stories of men and women who had dared to ask questions.

They had gone forth, and never again had they been seen.

A few had tried to scale the high walls of the rocky range that hid the sun.

Their whitened bones lay at the foot of the cliffs.

The years came and the years went by.

Happily lived Mankind in the peaceful Valley of Ignorance.

Out of the darkness crept a man.wow gold,

The nails of his hands were torn.

His feet were covered with rags, red with the blood of long marches.

He stumbled to the door of the nearest hut and knocked.

Then he fainted. By the light of a frightened candle, he was carried to a cot.

In the morning throughout the village it was known: "He has come back."

The neighbors stood around and shook their heads. They had always known that this was to be the end.

Defeat and surrender awaited those who dared to stroll away from the foot of the mountains.

And in one corner of the village the Old Men shook their heads and whispered burning words.

They did not mean to be cruel, but the Law was the Law. Bitterly this man had sinned against the wishes of Those Who Knew.

As soon as his wounds were healed he must be brought to trial.

They meant to be lenient.

They remembered the strange, burning eyes of his mother. They recalled the tragedy of his father, lost in the desert these thirty years ago.

The Law, however, was the Law; and the Law must be obeyed.

The Men Who Knew would see to that.

They carried the wanderer to the Market Place, and the people stood around in respectful silence.

He was still weak from hunger and thirst and the Elders bade him sit down.

As it was in the beginning—as it is now—and as some day(so we hope)it shall no longer be。
a ery nice poem

Sometimes I have thought it would be an excellent rule to live each day as if we should die tomorrow. Such an attitude would emphasize sharply the values of life. We should live each day with a gentleness, a vigor, and a keenness of appreciation which are often lost when time stretches before us in the constant panorama of more days and months and years to come. There are those, of course, who would adopt the Epicurean motto of "Eat, drink, and be merry," but most people would be chastened by the certainty of impending death.
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　　In stories the doomed hero is usually saved at the last minute by some stroke of fortune, but almost always his sense of values is changed. he becomes more appreciative of the meaning of life and its permanent spiritual values. It hasoften been noted that those who live, or have lived, in the shadow of death bring a mellow sweetness to everything they do.
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　　Most of us, however, take life for granted. We know that one day we must die, but usually we picture that day as far in the future. When we are in buoyant health, death is all but unimaginable. We seldom think of it. The days stretch out in an endless vista. So we go about our petty tasks, hardly aware of our listless attitude toward life.
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　　The same lethargy, I am afraid, characterizes the use of all our faculties and senses. Only the deaf appreciate hearing, only the blind realize the manifold blessings that lie in sight. Particularly does this observation apply to those who have lost sight and hearing in adult life. But those who have never suffered impairment of sight or hearing seldom make the fullest use of these blessed faculties. Their eyes and ears take in all sights and sounds hazily, without concentration and with little appreciation. It is the same old story of not being grateful for what we have until we lose it, of not being conscious of health until we are ill.
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　　I have often thought it would be a blessing if each human being were stricken blind and deaf for a few days at some time during his early adult life. Darkness would make him more appreciative of sight; silence would tech him the joys of sound.

　　Now and them I have tested my seeing friends to discover what they see. Recently I was visited by a very good friends who had just returned from a long walk in the woods, and I asked her what she had observed…"Nothing in particular, "she replied. I might have been incredulous had I not been accustomed to such reposes, for long ago I became convinced that the seeing see little.
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　　How was it possible, I asked myself, to walk for an hour through the woods and see nothing worthy of note? I who cannot see find hundreds of things to interest me through mere touch. I feel the delicate symmetry of a leaf. I pass my hands lovingly about the smooth skin of a silver birch, or the rough, shaggy bark of a pine. In the spring I touch the branches of trees hopefully in search of a bud the first sign of awakening Nature after her winter's sleep. I feel the delightful, velvety texture of a flower, and discover its remarkable convolutions; and something of the miracle of Nature is revealed to me. Occasionally, if I am very fortunate, I place my hand gently on a small tree and feel the happy quiver of a bird in full song. I am delighted to have the cool waters of a brook rush thought my open finger. To me a lush carpet of pine needles or spongy grass is more welcome than the most luxurious Persian rug. To me the page ant of seasons is a thrilling and unending drama, the action of which streams through my finger tips.
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　　At times my heart cries out with longing to see all these things. If I can get so much pleasure from mere touch, how much more beauty must be revealed by sight. Yet, those who have eyes apparently see little. the panorama of color and action which fills the world is taken for granted. It is human, perhaps, to appreciate little that which we have and to long for that which we have not, but it is a great pity that in the world of light the gift of sight is used only as a mere conveniences rather than as a means of adding fullness to life.

　　If I were the president of a university I should establish a compulsory course in "How to Use Your Eyes". The professor would try to show his pupils how they could add joy to their lives by really seeing what passes unnoticed before them. He would try to awake their dormant and sluggish faculties.

　　Perhaps I can best illustrate by imagining what I should most like to see if I were given the use of my eyes, say, for just three days. And while I am imagining, suppose you, too, set your mind to work on the problem of how you would use your own eyes if you had only three more days to see. If with the on-coming darkness of the third night you knew that the sun would never rise for you again, how would you spend those three precious intervening days? What would you most want to let your gaze rest upon?

　　I, naturally, should want most to see the things which have become dear to me through my years of darkness. You, too, would want to let your eyes rest on the things that have become dear to you so that you could take the memory of them with you into the night that loomed before you.
Three Days to See