Here’s what happens when you turn forty-five. You realize you will only ever read so many books — how much time have you got left for reading? — and you had better only read the good ones. There are only so many movies, so many trips, so many new friends, so many family barbecues with the sun going down over the long grass. It has always been this way. Finite. But at forty-five you realize it.

From Noteworthy's Last Mission post. This is a short colorful essay. The Walrus's new tag line, while rather arrogant, is almost certainly correct.