...for of the health of yourself and your whole house, we shall never cease asking, because we desire exceedingly to learn continuously news thereof.
A LVIII. *To Theodosius, ex-duces.*
You have seasoned your letter with much honey, or rather, you have made it sweeter than honey. For while honey itself, when one enjoys its sweetness too continuously, no longer seems equally sweet—the tyranny of satiety dissolving the pleasure—your letters, announcing to us your health, are so far from suffering this that they increase our joy all the more when they are sent more frequently. You, for your part, have embraced my letter; but I—I have embraced you yourself, the father of the letter, and have folded both my arms around you, and wrapping myself about your neck, and kissing that head so dear to me, I have reaped great consolation. For I did not think that only a letter of yours had come, but that you yourself were present with us and conversing. So great was the power of the letter. For such is the nature of genuine love: even if it pours its streams through writings, it causes the very fountain of those writings to be envisioned; and this is what we have experienced. And neither the length of time, nor the distance of the way, nor the confusion of affairs, nor anything else has been an impediment to this. Knowing these things, therefore, my most admirable master, do not grow weary of writing to us frequently, making known to us the state of your health, of your whole house, and of your cheerfulness. For you know B how eager I am to learn of these things.
LIX. *To Theodotus the Deacon.*
You have quickly forgotten us—your departure having been very painful to us, and you adding thereto the despondency caused by your long silence. And you cannot even take refuge in the press of time; for the number of days is sufficient to afford a traveler great ease for a return. But we would not even accept your pleading the Isaurian situation, since we love you so greatly. For many have come here from there since your departure. What then is the cause of your silence? Negligence and sloth. Nevertheless, we forgive you the charges regarding your former neglect, if you are willing for the future to correct what was overlooked by the frequency of your letters. For you know how you will gratify us by writing to us continuously of your health.
LX. *To Chalcidia and Asyncritia.*
I know that the succession of repeated trials that have befallen my most honorable and reverend master, the presbyter, has greatly disturbed you. But let none of this trouble you. For he who suffers these things for the sake of God, by how much more difficult the things are that he suffers, by so much greater favors he enjoys. Having sufficient consolation in this, therefore, bear what happens bravely and thankfully, glorifying God for all that comes to pass. For thus you too will become partakers of the rewards and crowns laid up for him, for which you have bravely and gently borne the things that have happened. For you know that the present life is a way, and its good things and its sorrowful things pass away, and that through many tribulations C we must enter into the kingdom of God; and that narrow and strait is the way that leads to life. Being comforted, therefore, both by these words and by his presence, scatter every cloud of despondency, rejoicing and being glad at his sufferings. For indeed, for him there will be stored up from this a fruit unspeakable and incorruptible.
LXI. *To Theodotus, ex-consularis.*
This is what a father is: not only not to be vexed that his son is practicing true philosophy, but even to rejoice with him, and to do everything so that he might reach the height of it; and not to be burdened by the fact that he is far from his fatherland, his home, and your eyes, but rather now to consider him nearer, since he is progressing in virtue. For these things we too owe you many thanks, and we have marveled how, having given us such a gift—your son—you thought it necessary to send us also gifts for the honor of us. As for the honor, we have reaped it from the things sent, but we have sent the things themselves back, not because we despise your generosity (how could we, for one who loves us so strongly?), but because we judged it superfluous to pursue the enjoyment of things D of which we have no need. The good Theodotus, the reader, however, we indeed desired to keep with us and to form, but since every place here is filled with murders, chaos, blood, and conflagrations—the Isaurians consuming everything with iron and fire—and we are changing from place to place...