"If you want something, it will elude you. If you do not want something, you will get ten of it in the mail"
About this Quote
Desire, in Quindlen's formulation, is a kind of bad lighting: the harder you stare, the less you can see. The line works because it turns a familiar modern irritation into a philosophy of longing. Not getting what you want isn’t framed as tragedy or moral lesson; it’s framed as a law of the universe with the petty, perfect evidence of the mailbox. That last detail is doing heavy lifting. “Ten of it in the mail” is funny because it’s consumer culture as fate: abundance arriving exactly when it’s useless, like coupons for a thing you’ve already quit, catalogs for a hobby you never asked to start, invitations to a life you didn’t choose.
Quindlen’s intent isn’t to preach detachment so much as to expose how wanting distorts reality. Wanting makes you chase, compare, refresh, rehearse outcomes. It narrows your field of vision until the world feels like a series of locked doors. Not wanting, by contrast, opens the floodgates of contingency: life is full of unsolicited options, noise, and “opportunities” that show up unearned and often unwanted.
The subtext is a critique of American appetite - not just for products, but for certainty. We’re trained to treat desire as a roadmap: identify goal, pursue it, acquire it. Quindlen suggests the opposite: the world is indifferent to your plan, and the marketplace is aggressively attentive to it. The joke lands because it’s half mystical, half bureaucratic - the universe as a marketing department, sending you duplicates of what you stopped craving.
Quindlen’s intent isn’t to preach detachment so much as to expose how wanting distorts reality. Wanting makes you chase, compare, refresh, rehearse outcomes. It narrows your field of vision until the world feels like a series of locked doors. Not wanting, by contrast, opens the floodgates of contingency: life is full of unsolicited options, noise, and “opportunities” that show up unearned and often unwanted.
The subtext is a critique of American appetite - not just for products, but for certainty. We’re trained to treat desire as a roadmap: identify goal, pursue it, acquire it. Quindlen suggests the opposite: the world is indifferent to your plan, and the marketplace is aggressively attentive to it. The joke lands because it’s half mystical, half bureaucratic - the universe as a marketing department, sending you duplicates of what you stopped craving.
Quote Details
| Topic | Witty One-Liners |
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