68 things from this book went into her brain. Here are the first 6.
Arnold Bennett notes that the inventors who lose their evenings to a machine are happier for it, because a pursuit that keeps absorbing you stops life from dragging.
Arnold Bennett argues that the most fascinating machine you will ever own is yourself, and that people do themselves less than justice by taking that machine for granted.
Arnold Bennett points out that we often wish our habits would practise themselves, yet give no attention to the machine we already have.
Arnold Bennett observes that most of us give our schooling and early working years to preparation, and very little deliberate attention to the art of living itself.
Arnold Bennett warns that much self-improvement is really self-indulgence, polishing one part of the machine while the more important parts go neglected.
Arnold Bennett suggests planning in advance what you will do at the moments you can foresee, so that you already know your response when pressure arrives.
Arnold Bennett notes that clever people can still muddle their own lives, so the real task is keeping the brain in order rather than hoping for more of it.
Arnold Bennett compares the wandering brain to a well-meaning volunteer who drifts off just when pressure is highest, and says we should not sit back and accept it.
Arnold Bennett argues that the brain is a servant outside the central self, and that when it runs out of control it is because its discipline was neglected. It can be trained.
Arnold Bennett describes the brain as a diplomat whose job is to give the instincts the most freedom with the least friction, and to stop them making fools of themselves.
Arnold Bennett holds that the brain must be trained to obey, through the will, so that it acts on the good intentions it already holds.
Arnold Bennett suggests giving your mind one chosen topic for half an hour and bringing it back each time it wanders. It is hard at first, and it is the foundation of an efficient life.
Arnold Bennett says that regular practice of concentration builds the habit of obedience, so the mind becomes less forgetful and less easily taken by surprise by its instincts.
Arnold Bennett argues that character is the total result of our habits of thought, and that reason can guide how it is built, rather than leaving it to chance.
Arnold Bennett points out that inherited tendencies are not destiny. A single shock, or contact with a stronger character, can reshape a whole life.
Arnold Bennett observes that most of our habits form without a plan, and that a habit we choose on purpose shapes character in exactly the same way.
Arnold Bennett asks why, if most of our character is shaped without thought, we should not give far more of that shaping to conscious choice.
Arnold Bennett shows that a bad habit is not cured by one good intention, but by fixing the better idea in mind each day until the brain remembers it at the critical moment.
Arnold Bennett holds that when life creates friction, the fault lies in the machine, meaning ourselves, and not in the facts of the universe.
Arnold Bennett reminds us that we can control nothing but our own mind, and that worrying over other people's minds is effort spent in the wrong place.
Arnold Bennett notes that we do not live in a universe of oughts. Losing sleep over a rejected application only costs us our own health and dignity.
Arnold Bennett separates the hardships we accept calmly, like a shower of rain, from those we protest against like a child denied the moon. Accepting what cannot be changed is the sensible course.
Arnold Bennett notes how easily we accept the faults of strangers in theory, then fume when the same fault turns up in someone close to us.
Arnold Bennett argues that, in the end, no one can really harm us except ourselves. Feeling wronged is a choice of how we respond, much like sitting in the rain with an umbrella beside us.
Arnold Bennett says the art of living is tested in our daily dealings with other people, and that good ideas should be able to hold up on an ordinary day.
Arnold Bennett concludes that calm cheerfulness rests on kindliness, and that the inmost secret of smooth living is to stop blaming and judging the people around us.
Arnold Bennett admits that he explains his own failings kindly, yet secretly blames others whenever they block his path, and that this hidden blame makes kindness harder.
Arnold Bennett suggests that the people we deal with are as shaped by circumstance as we are. Reflecting on each of them each morning builds the self-possession that good conduct needs.
Arnold Bennett describes the ordinary day, with its small frictions, as worth close attention, because the wear from friction builds up unnoticed.
Arnold Bennett argues that most daily friction comes from tone of voice rather than the words themselves, since every speaker conveys an attitude as well as a thought.
Arnold Bennett notes that adopting a pleasant tone on purpose can soften real resentment, because tone and attitude feed each other.
Arnold Bennett asks why we would not always use a gentle, persuasive tone, since small avoidable frictions in daily dealings add up to a great deal of unhappiness.
Arnold Bennett advises us to watch for small signs of a wrong attitude, such as a frown at a necktie, because those small moments reveal how the day is really going.
Arnold Bennett compares a person in a rage to a house on fire, where a warning only makes the owner fan the flames. Calm is the better response.
Arnold Bennett describes losing your temper as being burnt out, a brief collapse of dignity and common sense that most of us have suffered to some degree.
Arnold Bennett insists that a bad temper is curable rather than a misfortune to be endured, and that a person can stay master of his own mind by will or by cleverness.
Arnold Bennett argues that reasoning alone will not break a bad temper, but the near universal dislike of looking ridiculous can. A loss of temper only makes us look a fool.
Arnold Bennett advises rehearsing, in calm hours, a clear picture of ourselves at our angriest, so that it comes to mind first when the temper starts to rise.
Arnold Bennett suggests that truth is patient and needs no custodian, so we do not have to spend our energy winning every small point in an argument.
Arnold Bennett warns against trying to rearrange other people's minds. He calls it dangerous and generally futile, when our own mind is hard enough to manage.
Arnold Bennett holds that one central secret of efficient daily living is to leave our companions alone more often, and to be in charge of ourselves rather than the universe.
Arnold Bennett suggests treating other people as part of our environment, to be used without blame, while recognising that the responsibility for their own lives is theirs.
Arnold Bennett insists that human nature does change, slowly and through the efforts of individuals on themselves. We miss it because we rarely look closely, like grass growing.
Arnold Bennett points out that believing we cannot change is a quiet form of fatalism, one that releases us from responsibility for ourselves and for others.
Arnold Bennett suspects that claims of being unchangeable are often plain idleness dressed up as fate, and that most of us can alter ourselves at least a little.
Arnold Bennett argues that most failures to change come from forgetting, at the critical moment, what our reason would have us do. Remembering is a skill, and skills are built by practice.
Arnold Bennett argues that any habit can be replaced by a better one, formed by daily concentration on the new response until it becomes an instinct that beats the old one.
Arnold Bennett suggests that once we see how much our own thinking can prevent unhappiness, the working of the mind becomes a richer interest in life than any garden.
Arnold Bennett describes the common habit of waiting for worries to clear before we begin to live, and offers instead a daily resolve to weave a good life from today's material.
Arnold Bennett recommends foreseeing each day in the morning and adjusting our point of view, so that small annoyances look like material to work with rather than worries.
Arnold Bennett points out that preparing for the dangers we can see also arms us, to some degree, against the ones we did not expect.
Arnold Bennett says we should treat even our own failures as material for learning, and that a healthy measure of self-interest is essential to living well.
Arnold Bennett warns that mastering the mind is simple in principle but slow in practice, and that early surprises and setbacks should not persuade us to give up.
Arnold Bennett argues that the feeling of great effort with no progress is usually mistaken, often just fatigue, and that feeling overwhelmed can be a sign we are succeeding.
Arnold Bennett notes that most people drop self-discipline from plain lack of interest, and that this interest has to be fed from outside, through a little reading each day.
Arnold Bennett recommends a daily page of Epictetus, who stays close to ordinary life, followed by Marcus Aurelius, whose private notes are a deep confession of the inner life.
Arnold Bennett warns that self-discipline should not become an excuse to endure a bad situation. Sometimes the wiser effort is to climb out of the canal and change the setting.
Arnold Bennett says a well-kept mind lets us judge whether our unhappiness comes from a disordered self or from surroundings that do not suit us, so we can change the right thing.
Arnold Bennett notes that most friction between people is avoidable, but where it runs deep, a clear mind can calmly decide whether separation is the only cure.
Arnold Bennett warns that we often sacrifice the present to ambitions that are rarely realised. If an ambition still thrives alongside daily care for the present, it is probably a genuine one.
