How to Win Friends and Influence People

The deepest human urge. Philosopher John Dewey called it "the desire to be important" — the craving that drove Lincoln to study law from a barrel of old books, Dickens to write novels, and Rockefeller to amass millions. Carnegie argues this desire explains everything from why people join gangs to why some become invalids for attention. It separates humans from animals.

Appreciation is not flattery. Carnegie draws a sharp line: appreciation comes "from the heart out," flattery "from the teeth out." Charles Schwab attributed his record-breaking salary to being "hearty in his approbation and lavish in his praise." A study on runaway wives found the primary reason was lack of appreciation. Carnegie once went six days without eating and felt less deprived than people who go years without a sincere thank-you.

Talk about what they want. Carnegie loved strawberries, but when fishing, he baited with worms — because that's what fish wanted. Every negotiation follows the same logic. When his hotel tripled the rent on his lecture hall, Carnegie didn't complain. He listed advantages and disadvantages for the hotel manager: an empty ballroom versus cultured audiences providing free advertising. Result: a 50% increase instead of 300%.

This works on toddlers, too. Stan Novak's son threw a tantrum about kindergarten. Instead of threats, Novak started finger painting in the kitchen until Tim was begging to join. "You have to go to kindergarten first to learn that." The next morning, Tim sat waiting by the door before dawn. Before any conversation, ask one question: "How can I make this person want to do it?"

Interest beats impression. Howard Thurston, history's greatest magician, told Carnegie his secret wasn't superior tricks — hundreds knew as much. Before every show, he said to himself: "I love my audience." Psychologist Alfred Adler warned that those not interested in fellow humans "have the greatest difficulties in life." Carnegie put this into practice by tracking friends' birthdays, studying visitors' interests beforehand, and remembering small details.

Small gestures outperform sales pitches. Salesman Edward Sykes nearly lost a drugstore account when the owner stopped ordering. But the soda clerk told the owner Sykes was the only salesman who even bothered saying hello to staff. The owner doubled his usual order. Theodore Roosevelt remembered White House servants by name and once called his valet's wife just to tell her about a bird outside her window.

Carnegie barely spoke at a dinner party, spending hours listening to a botanist describe exotic plants and indoor gardens. Afterward, the botanist called Carnegie "a most interesting conversationalist" — despite Carnegie having said almost nothing. Harvard president Charles Eliot called exclusive attention to the speaker the most flattering thing one can offer.

Listening solves what arguing can't. Lincoln once called an old friend to Washington, talked for hours about freeing the slaves, then sent him home without asking his opinion — he'd just needed a sympathetic ear. The New York Telephone Company's most combative customer — a man who filed lawsuits and wrote to newspapers — was won over by a representative who simply listened for nearly three hours across four visits. Once the man felt heard, his grievances evaporated.

Agreement sells, argument repels. Truck salesman Patrick O'Haire used to win every argument with buyers — then watch them buy from competitors. Once he started agreeing ("The Whose-It is a good truck — you'll never make a mistake"), buyers ran out of things to fight about and started listening. His sales skyrocketed at White Motor Company.

Ben Franklin's transformation proves the point. A blunt young Franklin was told: "Your opinions have a slap in them for everyone." He adopted softer language — "I conceive," "it appears to me" — and credited that shift for most of his influence over fifty years in public life. Carnegie's formula: say "I may be wrong. I frequently am. Let's examine the facts." Nobody objects to that, and it opens minds where force never could.

Self-criticism steals your critic's ammunition. When Carnegie was caught walking his dog off-leash a second time, he didn't wait for the lecture: "Officer, you've caught me red-handed. I'm guilty. I have no alibis." The policeman's only remaining move was mercy: "Well, a little dog like that isn't going to harm anybody." By condemning himself first, Carnegie left nothing to argue about.

This tactic works everywhere. An art director notorious for fault-finding was disarmed when the artist said, "I am at fault and there is absolutely no excuse." The director immediately defended the artist's work — then bought him lunch with a new commission. After Pickett's catastrophic charge at Gettysburg, Robert E. Lee rode out to meet his beaten troops alone: "All this has been my fault. I and I alone have lost this battle." Self-criticism takes all the fight out of the other person.

Let them draw the blueprint. Sketch salesman Eugene Wesson failed for three years with one buyer. Then he brought unfinished sketches and asked the buyer how to complete them. The buyer gave suggestions, the studio finished them to his specs, and every sketch sold. Scores of follow-up orders came — all drawn to the buyer's ideas. Wesson realized he'd spent years urging the man to buy what he thought the buyer ought to have.

Plant the seed, don't force the flower. Colonel Edward House influenced President Wilson by mentioning ideas casually, then watching Wilson present them at dinner as his own. House never corrected him — he wanted results, not credit. An X-ray manufacturer asked a hospital director to review imperfect equipment and suggest improvements. The doctor felt the purchase decision was entirely his own. He ordered it installed without anyone "selling" him.

Lincoln's letter to General Hooker is a masterclass in sequenced feedback. He needed to rebuke a general who'd undermined his predecessor and openly discussed dictatorship. But Lincoln opened with: "I believe you to be a brave and skillful soldier… You have confidence in yourself, which is a valuable if not an indispensable quality." Only after establishing genuine praise did he address "some things in regard to which I am not quite satisfied."

One word ruins praise: "but." Saying "We're proud of your grades, but your algebra needs work" makes the compliment feel like a trap. Carnegie's fix: replace "but" with "and." "We're proud of your grades, and by continuing the same effort, your algebra can match the rest." The second version calls attention to the problem without triggering defensiveness. Indirect correction works wonders with sensitive people.

A single sentence transformed a life. Employer Georgette Leblanc told her dejected servant — known as "Marie the Dishwasher," cross-eyed and bandy-legged — "Marie, you do not know what treasures are within you." Marie began caring for her appearance, bloomed, and married within two months. Teacher Ruth Hopkins told Tommy, the school's most notorious troublemaker: "I understand you are a natural leader. I'm going to depend on you." He lived up to it completely.

Name the exact virtue you want repeated. Enrico Caruso's first teacher said he couldn't sing. His peasant mother praised him, told her she could see improvement, and went barefoot to pay for lessons — changing music history. When mechanic Bill's work declined, his manager said: "You have been an outstanding mechanic." Bill immediately returned to his former quality. Vague flattery is empty; specific praise creates a standard people feel compelled to honor.