Foldal.
[Quietly.] My little world of poetry is very precious to me, John Gabriel.
Borkman.
[Vehemently.] Yes, but think of me, who could have created millions! All the mines I should have controlled! New veins innumerable! And the water-falls! And the quarries! And the trade routes, and steamship-lines all the wide world over! I would have organised it all—I alone!
Foldal.
Yes, I know, I know. There was nothing in the world you would have shrunk from.
Borkman.
[Clenching his hands together.] And now I have to sit here, like a wounded eagle, and look on while others pass me in the race, and take everything away from me, piece by piece!
Foldal.
That is my fate too.