Run, Melos

From the crowd, too, came sobs

Men will have such dreams when the flesh is weary. There is no shame in that, Melos.

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.

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.

I run to meet my own death.

Ah, to live forever this way, among these good people, thought Melos.

Men are not to be trusted. What are men but lumps of selfishness and greed?

“Pitiful little man. What do you know of my pain and solitude?”