Men will have such dreams when the flesh is weary. There is no shame in that, Melos.
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But my strength has left me, my spirit is exhausted. Cursed be my fate! My name will be an object of ridicule. If I am to collapse here now, it will be as though I’d done nothing in the first place.
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Waves of dizziness swept over him, and again and again he fought the feeling off until, staggering a final two or three steps, his knees gave out and he fell to the ground. He could not get up. He lay on his back, weeping bitterly.
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I run to meet my own death.
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Ah, to live forever this way, among these good people, thought Melos.
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Men are not to be trusted. What are men but lumps of selfishness and greed?
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“Pitiful little man. What do you know of my pain and solitude?”