to brother theo
Sometimes in winter the cold is so biting that one says, It is too cold; what do I care if summer will follow, the evil far surpasses the good. But with or without our permission, an end to the bitter frost comes at last, and on a certain morning the wind has turned and we have a thaw.
Well, what shall I say? Do our inner thoughts ever show outwardly? there may be a great fire in our soul, yet no one ever comes to warm himself at it, and the passersby see only a wisp of smoke coming from the chimney, and go along there merry way.
But I should be very glad if it were possible for you to see me as something more than an idle man of the worst type.