When Breath Becomes Air

by Paul Kalanithi

Suddenly, now, I know what I want. I want the counselors to build a pyre…and let my ashes drop and mingle with the sand. Lose my bones amongst the driftwood, my teeth amongst the sand….I don’t believe in the wisdom of children, nor in the wisdom of the old. There is a moment, a cusp, when the sum of gathered experience is worn down by the details of living. We are never so wise as when we live in this moment.

Moral speculation was puny compared to moral action.

The root of disaster means a star coming apart,

The fact of death is unsettling. Yet there is no other way to live.