writings; you have spoken thus, thinking to rouse us to writing by at least your persistence. It is possible to love even without writing; however, I did not cease writing, and I do not cease loving. And even if the time that has elapsed since our separation should be still further prolonged, and even if we should be taken away to a yet more desolate place, we are still unable to cast you out of our soul, nor can we bring it about that we should not preserve our benevolence towards you as ever flourishing. Since you know this, write to us as often as possible about your health. For this is easier for you to do than for us. But if the time of year and the harshness of the Isaurian evils prevent this, since your disposition towards us is well-known to us, we shall have an abundantly ample consolation for the long silence.
CXXXVIII. To Elpidius the Bishop.
I am not unaware that I have written to you rarely: but this was not from a willing mind, but rather because I was hindered by the straits of circumstances. For both the time of year and the solitude of the place, in which we are held confined more severely than in any prison, and the infrequency of those who come here—and the fact that we do not find even those few to be all sincere and faithful—and finally the bodily illness which has vehemently worn us down and almost finished us off, and kept us bedridden throughout the winter, has brought this long silence upon me: yet it is only that silence which consists in the tongue, not in the mind. And do not think that you have received only as many letters as we have sent, but many more. But you will think this to be the case if you count not only those which we have written by the help of paper and ink, but also those which proceed from the mind and will. For in our mind we have never ceased writing to you, and we are always conversing with you; and neither the length of the journey, nor the duration of time, nor the difficulties of circumstances have brought any clouding to our benevolence towards you. But we keep it perpetually flourishing, and you, who burn with love for us, even if we should go away to a yet more desolate place, we shall carry engraved everywhere in our mind. For such is the nature of sincere love, that it is not blotted out by time, nor place, nor length of journey, nor by adverse circumstances. And this you yourself know also, since you know how to love sincerely.
CXXXIX. To Theodore, Consular of Syria.
You indeed say that this would be the greatest proof to you that your affairs are a concern to us, if after a previous letter you were again to receive another from us. But as for us, if we had men at hand who could perform this service for us, we would have written six hundred times to you, that is, to a man endowed with such probity and ease of manner, and burning with love for us, and receiving our letters with such great desire. But since that is by no means possible, we ask of you not to measure our affection by the number of letters; but whether we are silent or whether we are writing, that you would constantly retain the same judgment which you previously had concerning it; considering with yourself that the cause of our longer silence is not laziness, but the solitude of the place.
CXL. To Theodotus the Deacon.
This was no small consolation to us in such solitude, that we were able to write often to your sweetness: but the Isaurian evils have taken this from us also. For as spring arose, their attack also began to flourish, and they have spread over all the roads, rendering them completely impassable to everyone. Indeed, noble matrons have already been captured, and men slain. Wherefore I would like you to acknowledge why I have not written to you frequently. But since I do not doubt that you desire to be informed about our health, know that we were sick in a rather grave way over the past winter, but now we have been slightly refreshed. Furthermore, having been disturbed again by the inconstancy of the air (for now too the winter is flourishing here), we nevertheless hope that it will come to pass that when the summer has fully shone, we shall put aside the remains of the illness. For our body is not weakened by anything as much as by cold; nor, on the other hand, is it relieved by anything as much as by summer and the consolation of warmth.
CXLI. To Theodotus, ex-Consular.
May many good things happen to you, who have received our son so honorably. For he himself explained this to us, and did not hide it, both showing his affection towards his father, and filling us with great joy. For we consider this to be a double honor bestowed upon us: both because whatever benefit he received, we consider it to have been bestowed upon us, and also because it happened that we received an increase of this kind of benevolence from our letters. But you, my lord, most venerable and most noble, continue to cultivate this beautiful plant. But what will be the method of cultivating him himself? It is assuredly if you perpetually nourish and keep alive in him the study and love of this most beautiful philosophy which he now pursues; for so he will bring quick fruits to us. For generous souls are not accustomed to imitate the slowness of those plants which are entrusted to the bosom of the earth; but as soon as they are sown in the most excellent desire of this virtue, they are lifted up even to heaven itself, and they produce such great fruits that in both abundance and nature they surpass all riches. For they are not extinguished together with the present life, but they pass over with us into the future age.
CXLII. To Elpidius the Bishop.
By tongue indeed rarely, but in mind we have written to you very often, and daily we are conversing with you. And neither the duration of time, nor the length of the journey, nor the adversity of circumstances can snatch this meeting from us. For such is the nature of charity, that it yields to no such thing, but stands firm and overcomes everything. Wherefore, my most reverend and most religious lord, do not weigh my love towards you by the number of letters; but, since my mind and the benevolence which I have always shown to your piety are known to you, do not suspect anything sinister on account of long silence. Since not even we, although we have rarely received letters from you, therefore suspect you of being more sluggish towards us