A neurosurgeon dying of cancer, to his less than a year old daughter:
"When you come to one of the many moments in life when you must give an account of yourself, provide a ledger of what you have been, and done, and meant to the world, do not, I pray, discount that you filled a dying man’s days with a sated joy, a joy unknown to me in all my prior years, a joy that does not hunger for more and more, but rests, satisfied. In this time, right now, that is an enormous thing."
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1 comment:
I will have to read more another time...already close to bawling from that one paragraph.
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