Roger's review of the new Eastwood movie. The New Yorker didn't like it, but this review puts it into an entirely different light. Now I'm intrigued.
But there's much more here:
"We live, we die. That is not a tragedy. The tragedy would be never having been born. The number of possible lives that have never been lived is so large that actual lives represent a vanishingly small number after a decimal point and a great many zeros. We won a cosmic lottery by being not only alive but being self-aware and able to think rationally. That is cause for joy. We should collect our winnings and feel grateful when we die."
I read the above with a warm cat happily nested in my arms. Both of us felt grateful.
Nice way to start a Friday, don't you think?