"Suppose that the Lord God, after creating the world, after fertilizing the void, had stopped one-third of the way through His creation to spare an angel the tears that our crimes would one day bring to His immortal eyes. Suppose that, having prepared everything, kneaded everything, seeded everything, at the moment when He was about to admire his work, God had extinguished the sun and with His foot dashed the world into eternal night, then you will have some idea…Or, rather, no…No, even then you cannot have any idea of what I am losing by losing my life at this moment." (89.71)
There's no better way to emphasize the scale of your task than comparing it to the creation of the world. Grandiose or not, Monte Cristo manages to communicate just how much energy he's put into his work.
"And all this, good Lord, because my heart, which I thought was dead, was only numbed; because it awoke, it beat; because I gave way to the pain of that beating which had been aroused in my breast by the voice of a woman!
"And yet," the count went on, lapsing more and more into anticipation of the dreadful future that Mercédès had made him accept, "and yet it is impossible that that woman, with such a noble heart, could for purely selfish reasons have agreed to let me be killed when I am so full of life and strength. It is not possible that she should take her maternal love, or, rather, her maternal delirium, that far! Some virtues, when taken to the extreme, become crimes." (90.5-6)
In short, it is possible to be too concerned, to care too much.
"You see," said the count. "You do want to kill yourself: here it is in black and white!"
"Very well," Morrel exclaimed, instantaneously switching from an appearance of calm to one of extreme violence. "Very well, suppose that is so, suppose I have decided to turn the barrel of this pistol against myself, who will stop me? Who will have the courage to stop me? Suppose I should say: all my hopes are dashed, my heart is broken, my life is extinguished, there is nothing about me except mourning and horror, the earth has turned to ashes and every human voice is tearing me apart…Suppose I should say: it is only humane to let me die because, if you do not, I shall lose my reason, I shall become mad…Tell me, Monsieur, if I should say that, and when it is seen that it is voiced with the anguish and the tears of my heart, will anyone answer me: "You are wrong?" Will anyone prevent me from being the most unhappy of creatures? Tell me, Count, would you have the courage to do so?" (105. 73-74)
The short answer to Morrel's final question is "Yes," and the Count tells him so. No predicament is insurmountable and no battle unwinnable.