畢業(yè)典禮積極英語演講稿范文五篇

　　演講是可以調(diào)動人心緒的，那怎么講才能達(dá)到最理想的效果呢？以下是小編給大家?guī)砩吓_演講的畢業(yè)典禮積極英語演講稿范文五篇，歡迎大家參考借鑒!

　　英語演講稿1

　　Duke accepted me as an ‘early decision’ candidate and, for the first time, I felt seen, and heard and valued. One of the finest universities in the nation was willing to bet on me. I was, and I remain, eternally grateful for the opportunity to attend and graduate in the Trinity Class of 1979. My Duke degree and our Blue Devil family have opened more doors than I could have imagined and stood in support when I needed it the most.

　　Graduates, today, we still find ourselves in the same morass of exclusion and intolerance I experienced all those years ago. The high degree of acrimony is unyielding and discouraging, but I want to make sure you hear this: Discouragement doesn’t have to be debilitating. If anything, discouragement should drive you to open your own doors and design your own future.

　　And just remember when you open those doors, there will be people on the other side. Some of them will be cheerleaders, and some of them will be critics. The challenges you face on your uphill climb will often come with an audience, because the reality is this: Adversity doesn’t happen always in private.

　　I know this all too well.

　　英語演講稿2

　　As I said, my grandfather was a pastor for 50 plus years, leading the civil rights movement and marches, desegregating the public transit system and helping the first African-American policemen secure steady jobs. My father was a physician, one of only 100 black doctors in Atlanta when he started his practice, and my mother was a civic leader who co-founded a coalition of neighborhoods across segregated communities.

　　Following in the tradition of my elders, I pursued a role in public service as President of the City Council and you heard that I served for six years. As the leader of the Legislative Branch of municipal government, I learned all the mechanics and the operations of the City. And when it was time for my next step, I threw my hat in the ring and ran for Mayor.

　　I entered as the front runner with the highest name recognition. I raised a ton of money, I knocked on tens of thousands of doors. That said, there were issues along the way; my parents became ill – my father with the ravages of diabetes and two amputated legs and my mother diagnosed with the early onset of dementia – and I decided I needed to withdraw from the race to look after them.

　　But my father, he wasn’t having it. He told me I need to step up! That I should return to the race and try to get elected and give back to the city that had given us so much. But by then, my campaign’s momentum was gone. I lost the race and I was absolutely devastated. Every question you can possibly image went through my head. Had the people of Atlanta forgotten me? Had they forgotten all the work that I had done? Did they lose faith in me? Were they disappointing [disappointed]?

　　英語演講稿3

　　After three days of self-pity, my perspective changed. I realized there were more ways to serve my fellow citizens and my city than just being in elective office.

　　But the lesson became crystal clear several roles into the future. And graduates, here’s the lesson:

　　Failure’s not fatal. It’s feedback.

　　Did you hear me? Put that in your phones. Failure is not fatal. It’s feedback.

　　I wasn’t supposed to be the Mayor. Had I been the Mayor, I would not have been available to work as a senior officer at the Coca-Cola company where my maternal grandparents had worked for a combined 45 years – jobs that enabled my mother and her sister to be ‘first generation college graduates’.

　　Nor would I perhaps have been on the radar to become a trustee here at Duke, alongside my good friend and fellow Dukie, NBA Commissioner Adam Silver. Ya’ll know who that is? That’s a bad boy.

　　And had I not met Adam, I may never have been a candidate for the President of the WNBA, the Women’s National Basketball Association, somebody say amen, one of the most rewarding roles that I have ever undertaken.

　　英語演講稿4

　　So, I’m not just asking you, I’m advising you to anticipate defeat, strongly advising it. Don’t be surprised when it comes your way. Acknowledge it. Engage with inquisitive abandon and leave indelible fingerprints wherever you may go. Search for environments that may give you grief but they may also help you to grow.

　　Now, no one taught me the importance of that existential exploration better than my parents. And it was my father who showed me that in fact, it is in discomfort that we find our most defining moments.

　　My dad became a doctor because he knew the circumstances were not the same for everybody, that some people were not as fortunate as our family was. And as he put it, he wanted to eliminate “dis-ease.” Are you with me, graduates? “Dis-ease.” That’s exactly how he said it to me.

　　When I was a little girl, I would go on house calls with him. The patients all knew and loved him and I saw how much he prided himself on being a caretaker, someone who did his very best to reverse their compromised positions of his patients – to put their mind and bodies at ease.

　　But there was one house call I remember in particular. It’s seared in the back of my brain as if it happened yesterday. His diabetic patient was having a hypoglycemic attack. He told me to get the orange juice. I did, and I watched him save a woman’s life that day.

　　英語演講稿5

　　I’ve never been able to shake the haunting feeling of this specific house call because of the significance it would take on later in my own life – and it reminds me, of course, that even doctors can meet the same inevitable fate of becoming patients.

　　When I tried to tend to the diabetes my father developed later in life, I thought of that woman’s shaking, pale face.

　　And when I looked at his limbs – a double amputee, and recognized he was in renal failure, I thought of how he fought for a life, when she could not fight for her own.

　　And I thought of how in his twilight years, he was experiencing the same discomfort and dis-ease he had so seamlessly kept at bay for everyone else.

　　But even so, I knew we were lucky, my family. We could afford my father’s insulin. We could afford to do what it took to take care of him.