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Several reports in the past year have rightfully pointed out that Princeton (along with Stanford, Yale and Harvard) earns enough in investment returns on its endowment each year to more than cover annual operating expenses (with significant amounts of money left over to spend on capital projects or put back into the endowment) and that the University could therefore make tuition 100 percent free for everyone and still make a massive profit.
By the numbers, Princeton’s annual rate of return on endowment investment has been between 15 and 20 percent for the past few years, and has averaged, 10.5 percent per year over the last 10 years (a period that includes the worst financial crisis in modern times). Last year, the 19.6 percent return equated to $2.8 billion, and in future years a similar rate would yield an even higher absolute number.
On Sunday, the Editorial Board wrote an editorial encouraging the University to adopt measures relating to the current pass/D/fail policy.
In the midst of a frazzled rant, a friend interrupted me to ask, “Is this making you feel any better?” Walking through campus, I had been poring over a seemingly endless list of upcoming projects, assignments and other miscellaneous problems I proclaimed simply could not be solved.
Walking through Frist during midterms, I could not help overhearing multiple students on the phone with their parents.
In his recent column, “Run Dining Halls like a Business,” fellow opinion columnist Newby Parton argues that University meal plans are a “horrible and scandalous” deal that would “bankrupt a real restaurant in a week.” His strong assessment leads him to a simple conclusion: “Find the waste.
By Eileen Torrez ’13
Princeton is an amazing place. The beautiful campus, gifted professors and all-star students make for an incredible four-year experience.
Do you remember that film “Good Will Hunting”? Where Matt Damon’s character calls out this guy in a Harvard bar for regurgitating some advanced textbook just to impress a girl?
When the day comes that the stones of Whitman College combust spontaneously, I will be ready. I will know where my door is because no posters obscure it.
This year, as I entered my second year writing for the ‘Prince,’ I have noticed a lot of articles discussing and criticizing the comments section below our articles.
If you had asked me a month ago if our women’s basketball team was any good, I wouldn’t have been able to tell you.
Having lived in Arizona my entire life before coming to Princeton, this past March 8 was my first year experiencing the magic of daylight saving time.
By Nikki Bowen "08
This February, my students joined their peers across the country to celebrate Black History Month.
We, the Graduate Student Government Executive Committee, have completed our year at the helm of the University’s graduate representative body.
We (or, at least, I) entered Princeton ready to immerse ourselves in the life of the mind.
What exactly does “discrimination” mean? Considering how prominently it features in American history and modern social policy, you might imagine the definition to be fairly well-settled.
If you’ve been active on social media over the past few days, you may have heard word of a brief but concentrated burst of anti-Semitism which appeared on the campus of UCLA recently.
Watching the premiere of “Fresh Off the Boat” with the Asian American Students Association, I came to a startling conclusion about my own upbringing: I felt as if I wasn’t truly Asian-American.
While most of the students in the group laughed along with some of the jokes in the show, based on their own experiences growing up in Chinese or Taiwanese-American families, I found myself unable to relate.
The Special Victims Unit of a police department investigates cases involving domestic violence, rape, elder abuse, child abuse, victims of human trafficking and victims with developmental or mental disabilities.
I’ve been facing an existential crisis.
But this is no ordinary crisis about the purpose or value or meaning of life (Susan Wolf already covered that). I have been grappling with the purpose or value — or perhaps lack thereof — of newspaper column writing.
This pseudo-crisis was spurred by a tangential discussion that I had in my journalism class when the question of the use of opinion in journalism was posed.
The night of Sunday, Feb. 15 was cold. The wind was biting. It was the kind of night my Tennessee mother fears I won’t survive.