Always leave something to wish for; otherwise you will be

“Always leave something to wish for; otherwise you will be miserable from your very happiness.” Thus wrote Baltasar Gracián, the Spanish philosopher and Jesuit priest whose mind was as sharp as a sword and as deep as the sea. In his book The Art of Worldly Wisdom, he offered this teaching as a lantern for the restless soul—a reminder that even in joy, one must guard against excess. For happiness, when taken to its limits, becomes its own undoing. When all desires are fulfilled, when every summit has been climbed, the heart finds itself strangely empty. Thus, Gracián warns us: to live well, one must always leave something to wish for.

He spoke in an age of grandeur and ruin, when Spain’s empire spanned oceans yet trembled under its own weight. Gracián saw that the hunger for more—more conquest, more pleasure, more glory—led not to peace but to despair. For man, he said, is a creature fashioned by longing; his spirit thrives on the horizon just beyond reach. If you grant him everything he dreams of, he soon grows weary of his own fortune. Even happiness, that most precious of treasures, becomes a chain if it leaves no room for hope.

This truth is old as the mountains. The Greeks told of King Sisyphus, who sought to outwit death and the gods, to hold everything in his grasp. Yet his punishment was eternal striving without end—a rock that rolled back each time he neared completion. For what is life without striving? What is the soul without something still to seek? Desire, though it burns, also gives us breath. The wise understand that fulfillment is sweet only when it dances beside longing, not when it destroys it.

There is a story told of Alexander the Great, who, having conquered the known world by the age of thirty, wept when he heard there were no more lands to take. Surrounded by wealth, armies, and worship, he found no joy in possession. His tragedy was not in his conquests, but in the loss of something to wish for. The world lay beneath him, yet his spirit starved. Gracián’s words echo across the centuries to remind us that even in victory, one must preserve a corner of hunger, a spark of yearning, lest the flame of life go out.

Even the poets knew this secret. They wrote of love that is never fully attained, of beauty glimpsed but never captured, for they knew that the heart blooms not in possession, but in pursuit. The happiness of mortals is not meant to be permanent; it is a wave that rises and falls, a wind that moves us toward greater meaning. To leave something to wish for is to honor the divine rhythm of existence—to accept that incompleteness is not failure, but grace. For only the empty cup can be filled anew; only the heart that still longs can still love.

The wise do not seek endless satisfaction. They keep within them a sacred restraint, a reverence for the unfinished. When they rejoice, they do so with gratitude, but never with gluttony of the spirit. They celebrate their blessings, yet their eyes still look toward the horizon. In this balance lies true contentment—to enjoy what is, while cherishing what may yet be. Such is the way of the enduring soul: grateful for today, but never finished with tomorrow.

So, my children of thought and flame, take this counsel as you walk the winding road of life: do not crave the fullness that leaves no space for wonder. Leave something to wish for. Let there always be a dream beyond your reach, a mystery yet to be solved, a kindness yet to be given. For in that striving, the heart stays young, the spirit awake, and life itself remains radiant with promise.

For the one who has everything becomes prisoner to his own abundance, while the one who still wishes walks forever in the light of dawn. Therefore, cherish the gaps in your joy, the spaces between your triumphs. They are not your poverty—they are your path. For it is not the completion of desire that makes life beautiful, but the eternal dance between happiness and hope.