Tell you about a failure when I was a teacher. It was January 1940, shortly after I graduated from graduate school, I began my first semester of teaching at Kansas City University. A tall, thin, hairy beancurd like student walked into my classroom, sat down, put his arms across his chest, looked at me as if he was saying, "OK, teach me something."
Two weeks later, we began to learn Hamlet. Three weeks later, he walked into my office with his hands on his hips. "Look," he said, "I'm here to study as a pharmacist. Why do I have to read this? "Because he didn't take his own book with him, he pointed to my book on the table.
Although I'm a new teacher, I could have told this guy a lot. I could have pointed out that he was admitted not to a pharmaceutical technician training school but to a university, and that he should have graduated with a Bachelor of Science degree rather than a "qualified Grinder".
This certificate will prove that he majored in pharmaceutics, but it can further prove that he has been exposed to some ideas in the history of human development. In other words, he went to a university instead of a skill training school, where students need both training and education.
I could have told him all this, but it's clear that he won't stay for a long time and it's useless to say it. But since I was young and responsible at the time, I tried to put it this way: "for the rest of your life," I said, "on average about 24 hours a day.
When you are in love, you will think it is a little short. When you are lovelorn, you will think it is a little long. But on average, it stays the same 24 hours a day. For the remaining eight hours or so, you will be asleep.