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The Fringe Benefits of Failure, and the Importance of Imagination Harvard University Commencement Address J.K. Rowling

Tercentenary Theatre, June 5, 2008 ʧ°ÜµÄºÃ´¦ºÍÏëÏóÁ¦µÄÖØÒªÐÔ ¹þ·ð´óѧ±ÏÒµµäÀñ J.K. ÂÞÁÕ 2008Äê6ÔÂ5ÈÕ

President Faust, members of the Harvard Corporation and the Board of Overseers,

members of the faculty, proud parents, and, above all, graduates,

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The first thing I would like to say is \given me an extraordinary honour, but the weeks of fear and nausea I¡¯ve endured at the thought of giving this commencement address have made me lose weight. A win-win situation! Now all I have to do is take deep breaths, squint at the red banners and convince myself that I am at

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the world¡¯s largest Gryffindors' reunion.

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Delivering a commencement address is a great responsibility; or so I thought until I cast my mind back to my own graduation. The commencement speaker that day was the distinguished British philosopher Baroness Mary Warnock. Reflecting on her speech has helped me enormously in writing this one, because it turns out that I can't remember a single word she said. This liberating discovery enables me to proceed without any fear that I might inadvertently influence you to abandon promising careers in business, law or politics for the giddy delights of becoming a gay wizard.

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You see? If all you remember in years to come is the 'gay wizard' joke, I've still come out ahead of Baroness Mary Warnock. Achievable goals -

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the first step to self-improvement.

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Actually, I have wracked my mind and heart for what I ought to say to you today. I have asked myself what I wish I had known at my own graduation, and what important lessons I have learned in the 21 years that has expired between that day and this.

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I have come up with two answers. On this wonderful day when we are gathered together to celebrate your academic success, I have decided to talk to you about the benefits of failure. And as you stand on the threshold of what is sometimes called 'real life', I want to extol the crucial importance of imagination.

ÎÒÏëµ½ÁËÁ½¸ö´ð°¸¡£ÔÚÕâÃÀºÃµÄÒ»Ì죬µ±ÎÒÃÇÒ»ÆðÇì×£ÄãÃÇÈ¡µÃѧҵ³É¾ÍµÄʱ¿Ì£¬ÎÒÏ£Íû¸æËßÄãÃÇʧ°ÜÓÐʲôÑùµÄÒæ´¦£»ÔÚÄãÃǼ´½«ÂõÏò¡°ÏÖʵÉú»î¡±µÄµÀ·֮¼Ê£¬ÎÒ»¹Òª°ýÑïÏëÏóÁ¦µÄÖØÒªÐÔ¡£ These may seem quixotic or paradoxical choices, but bear with me. ÕâЩËƺõÊDz»ÇÐʵ¼Ê»ò×ÔÏàì¶ÜµÄÑ¡Ôñ£¬µ«ÇëÏÈÈÝÎÒ½²Íê¡£ Looking back at the 21-year-old that I was at graduation, is a slightly

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uncomfortable experience for the 42-year-old that she has become. Half my lifetime ago, I was striking an uneasy balance between the ambition I had for myself, and what those closest to me expected of me.

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I was convinced that the only thing I wanted to do, ever, was to write novels. However, my parents, both of whom came from impoverished backgrounds and neither of whom had been to college, took the view that my overactive imagination was an amusing personal quirk that could never pay a mortgage, or secure a pension.

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I know the irony strikes like with the force of a cartoon anvil now, but¡­ ÎÒÏÖÔÚÃ÷°×·´·í¾ÍÏñÓÿ¨Í¨ÌúÕèÈ¥´ò»÷Ä㣬µ«...

They had hoped that I would take a vocational degree; I wanted to study English Literature. A compromise was reached that in retrospect satisfied nobody, and I went up to study Modern Languages. Hardly had my parents' car rounded the corner at the end of the road than I ditched German and scuttled off down the Classics corridor.

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