sort of thing one cannot say to a friend!

As one goes on in life, this terrible and disconcerting shyness of
youth disappears. We begin to realise, with a wholesome loss of
vanity and conceit, how very little people care or even notice how
we are dressed, how we look, what we say. We learn that other
people are as much preoccupied with their thoughts and fancies and
reflections as we are with our own. We realise that if we are
anxious to produce an agreeable impression, we do so far more by
being interested and sympathetic, than by attempting a brilliance
which we cannot command. We perceive that other people are not
particularly interested in our crude views, nor very grateful for
the expression of them. We acquire the power of combination and co-
operation, in losing the desire for splendour and domination. We
see that people value ease and security, more than they admire
originality and fantastic contradiction. And so we come to the
blessed time when, instead of reflecting after a social occasion
whether we did ourselves justice, we begin to consider rather the
impression we have formed of other personalities.

I believe that we ought to have recourse to very homely remedies
indeed for combating shyness. It is of no use to try to console and
distract ourselves with lofty thoughts, and to try to keep eternity
and the hopes of man in mind. We so become only more self-conscious
and superior than ever. The fact remains that the shyness of youth
causes agonies both of anticipation and retrospect; if one really
wishes to get rid of it, the only way is to determine to get used
somehow to society, and not to endeavour to avoid it; and as a
practical rule to make up one's mind, if possible, to ask people
questions, rather than to meditate impressive answers. Asking other