If any impression gives rise to the idea of self, that impression must continue invariably the same, through the whole course of our lives; since self is supposed to exist after that manner.

But there is no impression constant and invariable.

Pain and pleasure, grief and joy, passions and sensations succeed each other, and never all exist at the same time.

It cannot, therefore, be from any of these impressions, or from any other, that the idea of self is derived; and consequently there is no such idea.
But farther, what must become of all our particular perceptions upon this hypothesis?
All these are different, and distinguishable, and separable from each other, and may be separately considered, and may exist separately, and have no Deed of tiny thing to support their existence.

After what manner, therefore, do they belong to self; and how are they connected with it?
For my part, when I enter most intimately into what I call myself, I always stumble on some particular perception or other, of heat or cold, light or shade, love or hatred, pain or pleasure.