Mrs. Alving (drawing back her hands). Doesn't matter!—that your father's life was such a terrible failure!
Oswald. Of course I can feel sympathy for him, just as I would for anyone else, but—
Mrs. Alving. No more than that! For your own father!
Oswald (impatiently). Father—father! I never knew anything of my father. I don't remember anything else about him except that he once made me sick.
Mrs. Alving. It is dreadful to think of!—But surely a child should feel some affection for his father, whatever happens?
Oswald. When the child has nothing to thank his father for? When he has never known him? Do you really cling to that antiquated superstition—you, who are so broad-minded in other things?
Mrs. Alving. You call it nothing but a superstition!
Oswald. Yes, and you can see that for yourself quite well, mother. It is one of those beliefs that are put into circulation in the world, and—
Mrs. Alving. Ghosts of beliefs!
Oswald (walking across the room). Yes, you might call them ghosts.