There comes a point where a man having wished so much for something, having lifted the object in question to such lofty heights as to almost grant it perfection, becomes disappointed with the actual reality of the object, and thereafter loses all interest in pursuing it. In his mind, it had been that beautiful porcelain figure whose every curve was carved with utmost precision, and which would have settled nicely on the display shelf, welcomed by the neighboring furniture. But as he now views it before him, and juxtaposes its projection against that perfect impression he had, he finds it more flawed than ever. He wonders how he could have ever come to desire such a thing? Perhaps he wasn’t thinking right. It must have been the urge of the passions. So finally, he stops wishing for it.