[His words now come forth hard and grey like flint. Perhaps Oliver means only to offer some dim hope in the darkness of his grief, but he listens not to what Achilles says, and for this his patience thins. He has only just now begun to pull himself back together after having been dashed to pieces, and he is not yet so sturdy.]

My mother is not of mortal flesh and blood - she stands among the deathless gods, a daughter of Nereus, born of the sea's loins. It is the height of audacity for man to think he knows more than the gods. If you mean to comfort me with your words, then there is no need: I have accepted my lot. No more shall I fear the end of mortality. I have no desire to live a long life if my dear Patroclus cannot be by my side, for such a life as this bears no fruit.