of it flows unconsciously, whether we think of it or not; it streams out
from our personality as sunlight from the sun.

The other is that which we exercise by some conscious effort of the will,
and with some deliberate purpose or intention.

Now, in the case of most of us, this tide of unconscious influence
flowing from us without any deliberate or set purpose on our part, our
involuntary contribution to the common life, is far more powerful for
good or for evil than anything which we ever do by way of active purpose
to influence another's life, and this because our unconscious influence
is the reflex on the outer world of what we are in ourselves; it is the
projection, or shall we say the radiation, of our own life, its tastes,
tempers, habits, and character, upon the lives around us.

What we do or intend to do, what influence we endeavour to exercise, is
very likely to be at the best intermittent, but this door of involuntary
communication between every man's life and his neighbour's life is always
standing open; and so it comes about that your life, whether public or
private, is of more importance to others than anything else about you.

At a time when so many things contribute to fix men's thoughts on
externals, and we are all tempted to think more about our work than about
our life, more about what we are doing or intending to do, than of what
we are in ourselves, these considerations assume an unusual importance.

Moreover, in a society like this, where you live so close to one another,
and so much in public, there is a special reason for giving to such
considerations some special attention; and the thought suggested by this
world-old inquiry--Who can bring a clean thing out of an unclean?--becomes