retire; the mother dreams ambitious dreams for her children; the
politician craves for power; the writer hopes to gain the ear of
the world--these are only a few casual instances of the desire that
is always at work within us, projecting us into a larger and freer
future out of the limited and restricted present. That is the real
current of the world, and though there are sedate people who are
contented with life as they see it, yet in most minds there is a
fluttering of little tremulous hopes forecasting ease and freedom;
and there are also many tired and dispirited people who are not
content with life as they have it, but acquiesce in its dreariness;
yet all who have any part in the world's development are full of
schemes for themselves and others by which the clogging and
detaining elements are somehow to be improved away. Sensitive
people want to find life more harmonious and beautiful, healthy
people desire a more continuous sort of holiday than they can
attain, religious people long for a secret ecstasy of peace; there
is, in fact, a constant desire at work to realise perfection.

And yet, despite it all, there is a vast preponderance of evidence
which shows us that the attainment of our little dreams is not a
thing to be desired, and that satisfied desire is the least
contented of moods. If we realise our programme, if we succeed,
marry the woman we love, make a fortune, win leisure, gain power, a
whole host of further desires instantly come in sight. I once
congratulated a statesman on a triumphant speech.

"Yes," he said, "I do not deny that it is a pleasure to have had
for once the exact effect that one intended to have; but the shadow
of it is the fear that having once reached that standard, one may
not be able to keep it up."