Essay范文展示：出国深造的朋友这些essay范例或许值得您借鉴

Essay范文展示：出国深造的朋友这些essay范例或许值得您借鉴

 

对于一些想去国外深造，在准备SAT的同学,我对ESSAY写作的建议是,至少在一个月前开始,每天带着看essay范文,不要指望在几天突击,也不要指望自己的临场发挥,积累是很至关重要的.同时千万不要低估essay的重要性.我自己的血的教训，是第二次考试语法接近满分,但就因为essay的疏忽直接导致整个writing没上750.所以,千万不要不重视essay!在复习ESSAY时,多揣摩6分范文的写法,不能只看表面,就像很多同学只看到了模式似乎也是5段就下定论认为和essay差不多完全是一种误解.仔细观察每句话是怎么写的,作用是什么,多看看ratercomment,再多练习自己写一些,用心去准备,不急不躁,假以时日,ESSAY一定会取得满意的分数。

 

　　下面是一篇SAT Essay参考范文，紧接着是几篇essay范文。个人觉得比较好，拿来供朋友们参考。

 

　　Think carefully about the issue presented in the following excerpt and the assignment below:

 

　　Abraham Lincoln said, "Most people are about as happy as they make up their minds to be." In other words, our personal level of satisfaction is entirely within our control. Otherwise, why would the same experience disappoint one person but delight another? Happiness is not an accident but a choice.

 

　　Assignment: Is happiness something over which people have no control, or can people choose to be happy? Plan and write an essay in which you develop your point of view on this issue. Support your position with reasoning and examples taken from your reading, studies, experience, or observations.

 

　　My Essay:

 

　　Happiness is an elixir to all diseases, so everyone wants happiness and most of them think that it comes from success. But even if we fail something, we can still choose to be happy.

 

　　Last year, our school held a basketball competition. Our class had entered into the semi-final and all the students in our class were very excited. Moreover, we had just beaten the team which was considered the best in our grade and my classmates were hopeful that we might enter the final game. On the day of the semi-final, the players of our team went to the field in our cheers. But as soon as we saw the members of the other team, we knew it would be a hard match. One of the players in their team is as tall as 1.93 m, much taller than any of our players and we also learned that their team was the only one which hadn’t lost a single game.

 

　　The match started. To our disappointment, our team wasn’t playing well, and the best player in our team was followed by the tallest in theirs at every pace. Anxious and worried, we girls jumped onto the platform beside and shouted at the top of our voices. After sometime, it seemed that our cheers had gave my classmates some energy and they began to catch up, slowly but gradually, we were only two points behind. But just at that time, the first ten minutes were over and we came to a stop. The players were tired but hopeful, and we kept cheering them. However, when the match started again, our opponents seemed to become stronger. They got more points and we were soon eleven points behind. Meanwhile, our throats were burning, but we kept shouting for our classmates. Though we caught up some points, at last we lost by only one point.

 

　　When we got back to the classroom, all of my classmates were disappointed and sad. One of the players even cried. But our teacher came in at that moment and said, “Cheer up everyone, we just lost by one point and we are already the top four. We still have a match and let’s get the third place!” Then one of my classmates suddenly went to the dais and wrote something encouraging on the blackboard and one by one, over ten of our classmates all wrote down the words they wanted to say. All of us were greatly encouraged and smiled. We felt a sense of happiness even though we didn’t win.

 

　　So if we choose to be happy, we’ll be happy. It’s all up to our choices.

 

Essay范文 Two

College: Harvard University

Too Easy to Rebel

In my mother’s more angry and disillusioned moods, she often declares that my sisters and I are “smarter than is good” for us, by which she means we are too ambitious, too independent-minded, and somehow, subtly un-Chinese. At such times, I do not argue, for I realize how difficult it must be for her and my father—having to deal with children who reject their simple idea of life and threaten to drag them into a future they do not understand.

For my parents, plans for our futures were very simple. We were to get good grades, go to good colleges, and become good scientists, mathematicians, or engineers. It had to do with being Chinese. But my sisters and I rejected that future, and the year I came home with Honors in English, History and Debate was a year of disillusion for my parents. It was not that they weren’t proud of my accomplishments, but merely that they had certain ideas of what was safe and solid, what we did in life. Physics, math, turning in homework, and crossing the street when Hare Krishnas were on our side—those things were safe. But the Humanities we left for Pure Americans.

Unfortunately for my parents, however, the security of that world is simply not enough for me, and I have scared them more than once with what they call my “wild” treks into unfamiliar areas. I spent one afternoon interviewing the Hare Krishnas for our school newspaper—and they nearly called the police. Then, to make things worse, I decided to enter the Crystal Springs Drama contest. For my parents, acting was something Chinese girls did not do. It smacked of the bohemian, and was but a short step to drugs, debauchery, and all the dark, illicit facets of life. They never did approve of the experience—even despite my second place at Crystal Springs and my assurances that acting was, after all, no more than a whim.

What I was doing when was moving away from the security my parents prescribed. I was motivated by my own desire to see more of what life had to offer, and by ideas I’d picked up at my Curriculum Committee meetings. This committee consisted of teachers who felt that students should learn to understand life, not memorize formulas; that somehow our college preparatory curriculum had to be made less rigid. There were English teachers who wanted to integrate Math into other more “important” science courses, and Math teachers who wanted to abolish English entirely. There were even some teachers who suggested making Transcendental Meditation a requirement. But the common denominator behind these slightly eccentric ideas was a feeling that the school should produce more thoughtful individuals, for whom life meant more than good grades and Ivy League futures. Their values were precisely the opposite of those my parents had instilled in me.

It has been a difficult task indeed for me to reconcile these two opposing impulses. It would be simple enough just to rebel against all my parents expect. But I cannot afford to rebel. There is too much that is fragile—the world my parents have worked so hard to build, the security that comes with it, and a fading Chinese heritage. I realize it must be immensely frustrating for my parents, with children who are persistently “too smart” for them and their simple idea of life, living in a land they have come to consider home, and yet can never fully understand. In a way, they have stopped trying to understand it, content with their own little microcosms. It is my burden now to build my own, new world without shattering theirs; to plunge into the future without completely letting go of the past. And that is a challenge I am not at all certain I can meet.

Comments:

1.This is a good strong statement about the dilemma of being a part of two different cultures. The theme is backed by excellent examples of the conflict and the writing is clear, clean, and crisp. The essay then concludes with a compelling summary of the dilemma and the challenge it presents to the student.

2.A masterful job of explaining the conflict of being a child of two cultures. The writer feels strongly about the burden of being a first generation American, but struggles to understand her parents’ perspective. Ultimately she confesses implicitly that she cannot understand them and faces her own future. The language is particularly impressive: “It smacked of the bohemian,”  “subtly unChinese,” and “a fading Chinese heritage.” That she is not kinder to her parents does not make her unkind, just determined.

 

Essay范文 Three

College: University of Pennsylvania

If an undergraduate's time is spent eating, working, socializing, and sleeping, I expect that I'll spend large chunks of my time in the cafeteria, the libraries, and the dorms. My days will most definitely be hectic. As I run across the quad to my history class, I'll already be thinking of where I'll be heading after that.

Sometimes I'll be running to a big round table in the Food Court. This table seems to be a magnet for my eclectic friends. One of the guys, a saxophonist with whom I play the oboe in an ensemble, is trying to get his own avant-garde band some places to play. Another student writes an editorial column for the Daily Pennsylvanian; he always seems to be searching for a hot topic with which he can stir up a ruckus. A French major who sits next to me in French class uses French verbs in conversation, causing some confusion for the rest of us. We tend to talk about everything from the Beastie Boys to the controversy over political correctness. We sit for hours sharing our mashed potatoes and discussing activities to collectively embark on for the weekend. I suggest some rock climbing in the Shawangunks of New York State or an art show in Philadelphia.#p#分页标题#e#

After my extended repast, I'll be heading for a good place to study. When I have detailed notes to take on the reading for my Social History of China course, I know that the Quad will be way too busy and social for me to get any sizable amounts of work done. I'll have to slip away to the Furness Library. It is so quiet in there that you can hear the students breathing. In the other libraries there is too much commotion caused by people hustling around as they search for references. If I worked in the Van Pelt Library, I know I would speak to everyone who passed by my carrel. Given my extroverted nature, I am safer in a library like Furness.

At the end of my day, I'll be heading for my dorm, where the door to my room is hardly ever closed. The people who live in my dorm are definitely an energetic group. Just like molecules being heated in a beaker, they can't sit still. They bounce all over the dorm's halls, in and out of my room, telling me random ridiculous things as they procrastinate about their work. My roommate and I seem to be from different planets. She grew up in Poland, Maine, the small town where my camp was, and I grew up in the big city of Manhattan. At first I'll think that all we have in common is our passion for chocolate. But after living with her for a few weeks, I'll know that we were destined to be together. She'll know when she comes back from a day that just didn't go right at all that I will be there for her to complain to, and I'll understand. She'll do likewise for me. We'll make each other chicken noodle soup and coffee to keep us going on long nights of work. I'll help her decide whether she has a thesis for her paper on Macbeth and then proofread it for her. She'll explain to me again why humans can 't digest cellulose--and then try to convince me that it's better to get up early and work rather than stay up late. We'll order some takeout from her favorite Cantonese restaurant. At 2 a.m., on full stomachs, we'll get some sleep before our 9:00 classes, when once again I'll be rushing across Locust Walk to get to my history class, thinking about where I'll be heading after that.

Comments

The writer deals inventively with the difficult question "Why are you and this school a good match?" Instead of telling the admissions committee what they already know about the college's curriculum, athletic program, or academic reputation, she tells them what they do not know about: herself. She answers the question by imagining herself in a college routine. She then makes that routine specific to Penn through references to the school newspaper, campus buildings and walks, and a particular history course.

What she reveals about herself along the way from cafeteria to library to dorm gives this well-structured essay its zest. The reader learns that she plays the oboe, is a rock climber, goes to art shows, studies history, is extroverted, loves chocolate, treasures her roommate, does not fully understand why humans cannot digest cellulose, and happily digests Chinese takeout at 2 A.M. She is confident enough to write in her own voice, using informal language in an informal essay (''chunks of time,'' ''way too busy and social,'' ''random ridiculous things''). Her lively sense of language comes through in sentences such as, ''It is so quiet in [the Furness Library] that you can hear the students breathing,'' and in her comparison of her dorm neighbors to ''molecules being heated in a beaker.''

She is as specific about other details in the essay as she is about herself. The net effect of these well-chosen details--for instance, about her friends' varied interests or how she and her roommate cooperate in their work--suggests that the writer has long been attending the school to which she is applying. Such a commitment to a particular school will impress admissions officers.

 

essay范文 four

College: University of Chicago

I wanted to draw in the rain. It was not really rain, just a lot of people in raincoats trying to make each other believe that they were hiding from the sky for a reason. Well, maybe it was a bit wet, but no one seemed to notice that there were many more people on the streets than there would have been had it really been raining. Real rain would drown out the city with noise, wash pigeons into drains, sweep cats straight into the river, tip over garbage cans and float the trash away, and leave red marks wherever raindrops hit bare skin. This barely had distinguishable drops; there seemed a strange continuity to this rain, as if it were an extraordinarily dense mist, or a very airy river that was flowing out of the sky and oozing onto the ground rather than, as real rain would have done, attacking the ground like a machine gun.

It wasn’t even dark. When I came out of the school building I had to blink my eyes, to let them adjust, in exactly the same way that I had almost every day since school had begun. I had my umbrella open, of course. Everybody had their umbrellas open. Everybody was wearing a raincoat, too. Everybody was hunched forward, shoulders tensed. None of them cast a shadow, but that was their own fault. Of course, I had no shadow either. Was I afraid of embarrassment?

Yet this light, from a sun ineffectively hidden by translucent clouds, was interesting in a way. When figures are equally lit from all directions, they become weird creatures, gray and colorless without becoming less lively. It was the illusion of rain that made them less lively. I thought about how I could draw objects without shadowing, how to describe contours on a uniformly gray mass.

Looking up, I was distracted by the view down the street. If drawing objects without details seemed hard, how much harder would infinite details be? As I liked down the street, and the facades of building formed unreproduceable angles toward the horizon, and the windows were placed in patterns so complex that it would take days to sort them out, and every iron railing on the steps was a work of art, I felt like crying.

I was quiet. Around me the city was unhurried but loud, except at moments when it grew silent and rushed past me. I felt the urge to paint the whole scene with one explosive stroke of a brush. It was clear before me, a true vision calling me out to be expressed, by the sudden release of boundless energy his vision could be communicated to the world. I didn’t move. The energy was there, perhaps, but only if it were controlled and manipulated could this vision, if it were such, be expressed. That was the root of real power. The people I know who are powerful intellects all have this ability: to sustain their energy over extended periods, directing it to their purpose.

Only at rare moments do I feel intellectually powerful enough to sustain an artistic vision over the time that it takes to actually execute a drawing. Only then the execution itself requires a further insight can I remain in the state of excitement that the original idea provokes. As I improve in skill I find that this further insight happens more and more often, for I am more able to approach each line, each brush stroke, with renewed spontaneity.

In writing, this spontaneity is easier to achieve, for it is more obviously necessary. Because any piece of writing is broken up into paragraphs and sentences, and by the progression of an action or an idea, it is impossible to conceptualize the entirety of a piece before it is physically written. At the very least, word and syntax choices must be made as they arise. At best, a work grows in the writing to be better than its conception. And because each word presents a new challenge, I often feel the excitement which prompts me to begin drawing only after I begin writing. As I write I build momentum and confidence, until I reach a peak of concentration. All barriers to achievement seem to melt before me, and words and ideas come forth.

It is at these moments that I feel intellectually and artistically powerful: subtle and sophisticated, exercising immense control over a boundless force.