But, above all, each of these model speeches which the world has thus
far produced teaches. They instruct. And, in doing this, they assert.
The men who spoke them did not weaken them by suggesting a doubt of
what they said. This is common to all great speeches.
Not one immortal utterance can be produced which contains such
expressions as, "I may be wrong," or, "In my humble opinion," or, "In
my judgment." The great speakers, in their highest moments, have
always been so charged with aggressive conviction that they have
announced their conclusions as ultimate truths. They have spoken as
persons "having authority," and therefore "the common people have
heard them gladly."
All of this means that the two indispensable requisites of speaking
are, first, to have something to say, and, second, to say it as though
you mean it. Of course one cannot have something really to say--a
lesson to teach, a message to deliver--every fifteen minutes. Very
well, then; until one does have something to say, let one hold one's
peace.
Carlyle's idea is correct. He thought that no man has the right to
speak until what he has to say is so ripe with meaning, and the season
for his saying it is so compelling, that what he says will result in
a deed--a thing accomplished now or afterwhile.
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