This was not the first time such an opinion had been formed of me, neither was it the last; the judgment of M.Masseron having been repeatedly confirmed.
The cause of these opinions is too much connected with my character not to need a particular explanation; for it will not be supposed that I can in conscience subscribe to them; and with all possible impartiality, whatever M.Masseron, M.d'Aubonne and many others may have said, I cannot help thinking them mistaken.
Two things very opposite, unite in me, and in a manner which I cannot myself conceive.

My disposition is extremely ardent, my passions lively and impetuous, yet my ideas are produced slowly, with great embarrassment and after much afterthought.

It might be said my heart and understanding do not belong to the same individual.

A sentiment takes possession of my soul with the rapidity of lightning, but instead of illuminating, it dazzles and confounds me; I feel all, but see nothing; I am warm, but stupid; to think I must be cool.

What is astonishing, my conception is clear and penetrating, if not hurried: I can make excellent impromptus at leisure, but on the instant, could never say or do anything worth notice.
I could hold a tolerable conversation by the post, as they say the Spaniards play at chess, and when I read that anecdote of a duke of Savoy, who turned himself round, while on a journey, to cry out 'a votre gorge, marchand de Paris!' I said, "Here is a trait of my character!" This slowness of thought, joined to vivacity of feeling, I am not only sensible of in conversation, but even alone.