Everyone should have, I think, at least one saddest-happiest day, because maybe the first part of growing up is accounting for the coexistence of opposite truths.

I go through life with the mentality of a tourist guidebook: In order to live to one's fullest, one must check everything off “the list.”

I realize that I’ve gained much more than an education—I’ve been inspired, and that’s what I’ll be most grateful for as I receive my diploma on Commencement day.

If I could redo Harvard, I would study abroad and go to the Schlesinger Library just to browse. I would borrow the dog that is on loan at the Harvard Medical School’s Countway Library.

It is through packing that it has become evident that I am leaving. The empty shelves tell me, unequivocally, that I will be gone.

We convince ourselves that the problem isn’t with our day-to-day lives—it’s with how we are looking at them. We tell ourselves that we love Harvard. We lie.

The biggest value of a Harvard degree is not the pedagogical experience itself, although I think that if you take a wide variety of courses and stray out of your comfort zone this place will make you a lot smarter. The value of a Harvard degree is that that it means you got into Harvard.

Students measure their achievements by their reception and competitive value, rather than their absolute value. Personal worth and self-esteem become tied up with success.

Making a conscious effort to be spontaneous and adventurous has made all the difference to me in deriving enjoyment out of a place that I know can be stressful, high-pressure, and demanding.

What follows is an assuredly incomplete expression of my gratitude to the folks who truly deserve it.