commits this error when he thinks it enough if he himself knows what
he means and wants to say, and takes no thought for the reader, who is
left to get at the bottom of it as best he can. This is as though the
author were holding a monologue; whereas, it ought to be a dialogue;
and a dialogue, too, in which he must express himself all the more
clearly inasmuch as he cannot hear the questions of his interlocutor.

Style should for this very reason never be subjective, but
_objective_; and it will not be objective unless the words are so set
down that they directly force the reader to think precisely the same
thing as the author thought when he wrote them. Nor will this result
be obtained unless the author has always been careful to remember that
thought so far follows the law of gravity that it travels from head to
paper much more easily than from paper to head; so that he must assist
the latter passage by every means in his power. If he does this, a
writer's words will have a purely objective effect, like that of a
finished picture in oils; whilst the subjective style is not much more
certain in its working than spots on the wall, which look like figures
only to one whose phantasy has been accidentally aroused by them;
other people see nothing but spots and blurs. The difference in
question applies to literary method as a whole; but it is often
established also in particular instances. For example, in a recently
published work I found the following sentence: _I have not written in
order to increase the number of existing books._ This means just the
opposite of what the writer wanted to say, and is nonsense as well.

He who writes carelessly confesses thereby at the very outset that he
does not attach much importance to his own thoughts. For it is only
where a man is convinced of the truth and importance of his thoughts,
that he feels the enthusiasm necessary for an untiring and assiduous