And so, when my conscience reproaches me, her face instantly clouds over.

Although I have great power over her mind, I see with pleasure that she awes me; and so long as I love her as I do now, I am sure that I shall never allow myself to be drawn into anything that is wrong." In the retired life which De Tocqueville led as a literary man--political life being closed against him by the inflexible independence of his character--his health failed, and he became ill, irritable, and querulous.

While proceeding with his last work, 'L'Ancien Regime et la Revolution,' he wrote: "After sitting at my desk for five or six hours, I can write no longer; the machine refuses to act.

I am in great want of rest, and of a long rest.

If you add all the perplexities that besiege an author towards the end of his work, you will be able to imagine a very wretched life.