At any rate, I have said nothing of my vainglorious impulse for nearly forty years.
When I had written about seven-tenths of the first volume, I was prevailed upon by the extreme importunity of an old and intimate friend to allow him the perusal of my manuscript.

On the second day he returned it with a note to this purpose: "I return you your manuscript, because I promised to do so.

If I had obeyed the impulse of my own mind, I should have thrust it in the fire.

If you persist, the book will infallibly prove the grave of your literary fame." I doubtless felt no implicit deference for the judgment of my friendly critic.

Yet it cost me at least two days of deep anxiety before I recovered the shock.