I left university with a good degree in English Literature, but no sense of what I wanted to do. Over the next six years, I was treading water, just trying to earn an income. I tried journalism, but I didn't think I was any good, then finance, which I hated. Finally, I got a job as a rights assistant at a famous publisher. I loved working with books, although the job that I did was dull.

    I had enough savings to take a year off work, and I decided to try to satisfy a deep-down wish to write a novel. Attending a Novel Writing MA course gave me the structure I needed to write my first 55,000 words.

    It takes confidence to make a new start — there's a dark period in-between where you're neither one thing nor the other. You're out for dinner and people ask what you do, and you're too ashamed to say, “Well, I'm writing a novel, but I'm not quite sure if I'm going to get there.” My confidence dived. Believing my novel could not be published ,

    I put it aside.

    Then I met an agent（代理商）who said I should send my novel out to agents. So, I did and, to my surprise, got some wonderful feedback. I felt a little hope that I might actually become a published writer and, after signing with an agent, I finished the second half of the novel.

    The next problem was finding a publisher. After two-and-a-half years of no income, just waiting and wondering, a publisher offered me a book deal — that publisher turned out to be the one I once worked for.

    It feels like an unbelievable stroke of luck — of fate, really. When you set out to do something different, there's no end in sight, so to find myself in a position where I now have my own name on a contract of the publisher — to be a published writer — is unbelievably rewarding.

    Some years ago, writing in my diary used to be a usual activity. I would return from school and spend the expected half hour recording the day's event, feelings, and impressions in my little blue diary. I did not really need to express my emotions by way of words, but I gained a certain satisfaction from seeing my experiences forever recorded on paper. After all, isn't accumulating memories a way of preserving the past?

    When I was thirteen years old, I went on a long journey on foot in a great valley, well-equipped with pens, a diary, and a camera. During the trip, I was busy recording every incident, name and place I came across. I felt proud to be spending my time productively, dutifully preserving for future generations a detailed description of my travels. On my last night there, I wandered out of my tent, diary in hand. The sky was clear and lit by the glare of the moon, and the walls of the valley looked threatening behind their screen of shadows. I automatically took out my pen….

    At that point, I understood that nothing I wrote could ever match or replace the few seconds I allowed myself to experience the dramatic beauty of the valley. All I remembered of the previous few days were the dull characterizations I had set down in my diary.

    Now, I only write in my diary when I need to write down a special thought or feeling. I still love to record ideas and quotations that strike me in books, or observations that are particularly meaningful. I take pictures, but not very often—only of objects I find really beautiful. I'm no longer blindly satisfied with having something to remember when I grow old. I realize that life will simply pass me by if I stay behind the camera, busy preserving the present so as to live it in the future.

    I don't want to wake up one day and have nothing but a pile of pictures and notes. Maybe I won't have as many exact representations of people and places; maybe I'll forget certain facts, but at least the experiences will always remain inside me. I don't live to make memories—I just live, and the memories form. themselves.

    One day when I was 12, my mother gave me an order: I was to walk to the public library, and borrow at least one book for the summer. This was one more weapon for her to defeat my strange problem — inability to read.

    In the library, I found my way into the “Children's Room.” I sat down on the floor and pulled a few books off the shelf at random. The cover of a book caught my eye. It presented a picture of a beagle. I had recently had a beagle, the first and only animal companion I ever had as a child. He was my secret sharer, but one morning, he was gone, given away to someone who had the space and the money to care for him. I never forgot my beagle.

    There on the book's cover was a beagle which looked identical（相同的）to my dog. I ran my fingers over the picture of the dog on the cover. My eyes ran across the title, Amos, the Beagle with a Plan. Unknowingly, I had read the title. Without opening the book, I borrowed it from the library for the summer.

Under the shade of a bush, I started to read about Amos. I read very, very slowly with difficulty. Though pages were turned slowly, I got the main idea of the story about a dog who, like mine, had been separated from his family and who finally found his way back home. That dog was my dog, and I was the little boy in the book. At the end of the story, my mind continued the final scene of reunion, on and on, until my own lost dog and I were, in my mind, running together.

    My mother's call returned me to the real world. I suddenly realized something: I had read a book, and I had loved reading that book. Everyone knew I could not read. But I had read it. Books could be incredibly wonderful and I was going to read them.

    I never told my mother about my “miraculous” (奇迹般地) experience that summer, but she saw a slow but remarkable improvement in my classroom performance during the next year. And years later, she was proud that her son had read thousands of books, was awarded a PhD in literature, and authored his own books, articles, poetry and fiction. The power of the words has held.

    For high school leavers starting out in the working world, it is very important to learn particular skills and practise how to behave in an interview or how to find all internship(实习). In some countries, schools have programs to help students onto the path to work. In the United States, however, such programs are still few and far between.

    Research shows that if high schools provide career-related courses, students are likely to get higher earnings in later years. The students are more likely to stay in school, graduate and go on to higher education.

    In Germany, students as young as 13 and 14 are expected to do internships. German companies work with schools to make sure that young people get the education they need for future employment.

    But in America, education reform programs focus on how well students do in exams instead of bringing them into contact with the working world. Harvard Education school professor Robert Schwartz has criticized education reformers for trying to place all graduates directly on the four-year college track. Schwartz argued that this approach leaves the country's most vulnerable(易受影响的) kids with no jobs and no skills.

    Schwartz believed that the best career programs encourage kids to go for higher education while also teaching them valuable practical skills at high school. James Madison High School in New York, for example, encourages students to choose classes on career-based courses. The school then helps them gain on-the-job experience in those fields while they're still at high school.

    However, even for teens whose schools encourage them to connect with work, the job market is daunting. In the US， unemployment rates for 16-to-l9-year-olds are above 20 percent for the third summer in a row.

    “The risk is that if teenagers miss out on the summer job experience, they become part of this generation of teens who had trouble in landing a job,” said Michael, a researcher in the US.

    When I was a very little child, I remember watching TV and seeing other children suffer in other parts of the world. I would talk to myself, "when I grow up, when I can become rich, I'll save kids all over the world."

    At the age of 17, I began my career here in America, and by 18, I started my first charity organization. I went on to team up with other organizations in the following years, and met, helped, and even lost some of the most beautiful souls, from six-year-old Jasmina Anema who passed away in 2010 from leukemia (白血病)—her story inspired thousands to volunteer as donors, to 2012 when my grandmother lost her battle with cancer, which is the very reason and the driving force behind the Clara Lionel Foundation (CLF). We're all human. And we all just want a chance: a chance at life, a chance in education, a chance at a future, really. And at CLF, our mission is to impact as many lives as possible, but it starts with just one.

    People make it seem too hard to do charity work. The truth is, you don't have to be rich to help others. You don't need to be famous. You don't even have to be college-educated. But it starts with your neighbor, the person right next to you, the person sitting next to you in class, the kid down the block in your neighborhood. You just do whatever you can to help in any way that you can. And today, I want to challenge each of you to make a commitment to help one person, one organization, one situation that touches your heart. My grandmother always used to say, "If you've got a dollar, there's plenty to share."

    As a young boy, I knew what people said was not always what they meant or were feeling. And I knew it was possible to get others to do what I wanted if I read their real feelings and responded(回应) suitably to their needs. At the age of eleven, I sold sponge rubber(泡沫橡胶) door-to-door after school and quickly worked out how to tell if someone was likely to buy from me. When I knocked on a door, if someone told me to go away but their hands were open and they showed their palms (the inside surfaces of their hands), I knew it was safe to continue with my presentation(展示) because they weren't angry or threatening although they may have a dismissive(不屑 ) attitude. If someone told me to go away in a soft voice but used a pointed finger or closed hand, I knew it was time to leave.

    As a teenager, I became a pots and pans(炊具)salesperson, and my ability to read people earned me enough money to buy my first house. Selling gave me the chance to meet people and study them close and to know whether they would buy or not, simply by watching their body language.

    I joined the life insurance business at the age of twenty. And I went on to break several sales records for my company, becoming the youngest person to sell over a million dollars' worth of business in my first year. This achievement allowed me to become a member of the well-known Million Dollar Round Table (MDRT, which recognizes the world's top achievers in life insurance). I was lucky that the skills I'd learned as a boy in watching body language while selling pots and pans could be used in this new area, and were directly related to the success I could have in any business closely connected with people.