Wishing (n.) is no art — but to wish rightly is a great art, or rather a gift.
Wishing (n.) daringly, even foolhardily, is a genius as great as any other; give any other man full warrant to wish and it becomes a begging-letter in his hands, for he wants to reflect on wishing the right thing.
Wishing (n.) while young is not difficult; desisting is. But to keep the soul fixed on the wish while secret remorse consumes one's strength is like a worn-out horse cutting capers.
Wishing (n.) has shrunk in our age from the command to the whimper: few dare address Nature with anything more than a polite child's please, or else the rage of a lost soul.
Wishing (n.) is beneath the aesthete: he wishes for nothing, except perhaps a divining rod that could give him everything — which he would use to scrape his pipe.
Wishing (n.) is the most paltry of all solo performances.
Wishing (n.) is believing one can do nothing at all to find the thing sought — youth's uncertain wealth of the wish, which many have traded for the certain wretchedness of mediocrity.
Wishing (n.) is a contemptible shortcut to complaint: the man who only wishes, never becomes proficient at anything but wishing, and ends wretched enough to wish everything away.
Wishing (n.) as a habit is like begging out of laziness: both live on charity, both are irresponsible, both are suspect in the eyes of justice.