I wish I could write as mysterious as a cat.

That single thought is enough. The impulse increases to a wish, the wish to a desire, the desire to an uncontrollable longing, and the longing (to the deep regret and mortification of the speaker, and in defiance of all consequences,) is indulged.

If you wish to forget anything on the spot, make a note that this thing is to be remembered.

I blush, I burn, I shudder, while I pen the damnable atrocity.

I wish I could draw.

There are so many people I wish I could have met: