Letter 76: (Basil the Great died Jan. 1, a.d. 379.

Gregory to Gregory of Nyssa, on the death of Basil. So this too was reserved for my sorrowful life: to hear of the death of Basil, and the departure of that holy soul which has left us to be with the Lord. I was prevented by severe illness from attending his funeral. My body would not obey my heart. I would have given anything to be there -- to stand at the grave of the man who was more than a brother to me, who was half my soul, the companion of my youth and the guide of my manhood. What shall I say about Basil that is worthy of him? That he was the greatest teacher of our age? That he was the most courageous defender of the faith? That he was the kindest, the most generous, the most self-sacrificing of men? All of this is true, and all of it falls short. He is gone, and the world is darker for his going. But he is not truly gone. The words he spoke, the books he wrote, the lives he changed, the faith he defended -- all of these remain. And so he remains, in everything that matters, with us still. Console yourself, brother. And console his people. And pray for me, who have lost the dearest friend a man ever had.

Ep. LXXVI. (Basil the Great died Jan. 1, a.d. 379. Gregory of Nazianzus was prevented by very serious illness from attending his funeral, and therefore wrote as follows to Gregory of Nyssa.) This, then, was also reserved for my sad life, to hear of the death of Basil, and the departure of that holy soul, which has gone from us that it may be with the Lord, for which he had been preparing himself all his life. And among all the other losses I have had to endure this is the greatest, that by reason of the bodily sickness from which I am still suffering and in great danger, I cannot kiss that holy dust, or be with you to enjoy the consolations of a just philosophy, and to comfort our common friends. But to see the desolation of the Church, shorn of such a glory, and bereft of such a crown, is what no one, at least no one of any feeling, can bear to let his eyes look upon, or his ear hearken to. But you, I think, though you have many friends and will receive many words of condolence, yet will not derive comfort so much from any as from yourself and your memory of him; for you two were a pattern to all of philosophy, a kind of spiritual standard, both of discipline in prosperity, and of endurance in adversity; for philosophy bears prosperity with moderation and adversity with dignity. This is what I have to say to Your Excellency. But for myself who write so, what time or what words shall comfort me, except your company and conversation, which our blessed one has left me in place of all, that seeing his character in you as in a bright and shining mirror, I may think myself to possess him also!