He took refuge in his library, and in his writings. “At the last a man must return to himself and confront himself, and never can he escape that last confrontation,” he wrote. “The world cannot hide him; the love of his family cannot help him flee. Affairs of state cannot deafen the voice he must finally hear, which is his own. Books, music, sculpture, arts, science, philosophy: these are lovely delays, but they are only delays.”
