That's right. [There's a nearby boat, somehow, that seems entirely untroubled by the storms. Its inhabitant smiles, but the smile is cold somehow; empty. The matter-of-fact calm makes the words almost worse somehow.]

It was always useless to struggle. In the end, everything is lost anyway. Your friends, your accomplishments, your memories.

[Who should know better than Lethe, the goddess of Oblivion?]

None of those things has any value to itself. So why struggle so hard for them?