Excerpt from When Breath Becomes Air by Paul Kalanithi, plus links to reviews, author biography & more

This was summer at Sierra Camp, perhaps no different from any other camp, but every day felt full of life, and of the relationships that give life meaning. Other nights found a group of us on the dining room deck, sipping whiskey with the assistant director of the camp, Mo, a Stanford alum taking a break from his English PhD, and discussing literature and the weighty matters of post adolescent life. The next year he returned to his PhD, and later he sent me his first published short story, summing up our time together:

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.

From the Book, When Breath Becomes Air by Paul Kalanithi. Copyright © by Corcovado, Inc. Reprinted by arrangement with Random House, an imprint of Random House, a division of Penguin Random House, Inc. All rights reserved.