Thus I lived for some years with complete
acquiescence in my own plan of conduct, rising early
to read, and dividing the latter part of the day
between economy, exercise, and reflection. But, in
time, I began to find my mind contracted and
stiffened by solitude. My ease and elegance were
sensibly impaired; I was no longer able to accommodate
myself with readiness to the accidental current
of conversation; my notions grew particular
and paradoxical, and my phraseology formal and
unfashionable; I spoke, on common occasions, the
language of books. My quickness of apprehension,
and celerity of reply, had entirely deserted me;
when I delivered my opinion, or detailed my knowledge,
I was bewildered by an unseasonable interrogatory,
disconcerted by any slight opposition, and
overwhelmed and lost in dejection, when the smallest
advantage was gained against me in dispute. I
became decisive and dogmatical, impatient of
contradiction, perpetually jealous of my character,
insolent to such as acknowledged my superiority, and
sullen and malignant to all who refused to receive
my dictates.
This I soon discovered to be one of those
intellectual diseases which a wise man should make haste
to cure. I therefore resolved for a time to shut my
books, and learn again the art of conversation; to
defecate and clear my mind by brisker motions, and
stronger impulses; and to unite myself once more