At home in literature, in philosophy he did but strive and falter and lose himself.

When at length there came a silence, he sighed deeply, his hand propping his forehead.
'Master, how few men can ever know God!' 'Few, few,' admitted the philosopher, his gaze upwards.
'I think I should be content,' said Decius, 'to love and praise Him.
Yet that meseems is no less hard.' 'No less,' was the reply.

'For, without knowledge, love and praise are vain.' But Decius' thought had another meaning..