My whole life is full of apparent contrasts with my principles. I do not like princes at all, and I am tied to a princess and to a prince. People know my republican feelings, and many of my friends are coated with monarchical decorations. I love voluntary poverty, and I live with rich people. I shun honors, and some have been given to me. Letters are nearly my only consolation, and I never see literary men or go to the Académie. Add that I think that illusions are necessary for men, and that I live without them; that I think that passions are more useful than reason, and I no longer have them, etc.