50 Harvard Essays

Essays are for reference only. Do NOT copy or imitate anything! 
Plagiarism is severely punished! 
new things about myself and changing all the time, I know what I stand for, what my 
weaknesses and strengths are, and what I would like to get out of life. I know that 
I want to major in English, attend graduate school, learn as much as possible from 
those who are wiser than I, and eventually teach at a university. I am headed for a 
career in English; there is no question about it. 
Myung, 
I admit that I do pause and contemplate decisions before leaping in and rushing 
ahead of myself – spontaneity is perhaps not my strong point. But the comma, with 
its dragging, drooping tail, does not adequately describe who I am, because I know 
that life will not pause for me; nor do I want it to. Mid the chaos of a hectic schedule 
that balances clubs, activities, and AP courses, I always feel the rush of life, and I 
love it. I do not linger over failures; due to my passionate nature, I am crushed by 
disappointments, but I move on. No prolonged hesitations or pauses. 
Myung: 
I constantly look forward to the surprises that college and my future life promise me; 
graduation seems like the beginning of a whole new chapter. But the colon, though 
I will not deny its two neat specks a certain professional air, does not do my justice. 
I know how to live for today, have fun, and enjoy life instead of just waiting for what 
the next chapter may bring. The future is unpredictable. My present life is not simply 
the precursor to what may follow. 
Myung. 
Perhaps this is the most inaccurate punctuation mark to describe who I am. The 
drab, single eye of the period looks upon an end, a full stop == but with the greater 
aspects of my education still ahead of me, my life is far from any kind of termination. 
Myung! 
However, the exclamation point, with its jaunty vertical slash underscored by a 
perky little dot, is a happy sort of mark, cheerful, full of spice. Its passions match 
mine: whether it be the passion that keeps me furiously attacking my keyboard at 
4:50 in the morning so that I might perfectly capture a fantastic idea for a story, or 
the passion that lends itself to a nearly crazed state of mind in which I tackle pet 
projects of mine, such as clubs or activities I am especially devoted to. 
One of my greatest passions, my passion for learning, engenders in me a passion for 
teaching that I plan to satisfy fully as a professor. I want my students to feel the 
aching beauty of John Keats’s words, his drawn-out good-bye to life. I want them to 
feel the world of difference in Robert Frost’s hushed “the woods are lovely, ark and 
deep,” as opposed to his editor’s irreverent “the woods are lovely, dark and deep.” I 
want them to feel the juiciness of Pablo Neruda’s sensually ripe poetry when he 
describes the “wide fruit mouth” of his lover. With the help of my exclamation point, 
I want to teach people how to rip the poetry off the page and take it out of the 
classroom as well. I want them to feel poetry when they see the way the sharp, 
clean edges of a white house look against a black and rolling sky; I want them to feel 
it on the roller coaster as it surges forward, up, as the sky becomes the earth and 
the ground rushes up, trembling to meet them; I want them to feel it in the neon 
puddles that melt in the streets in front of smoky night clubs at midnight. I want 

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