Borkman.
[With a snort of scorn.] Well then, what is the good of it? What is the good of such women existing—if you never know them?
Foldal.
[Warmly.] Yes, John Gabriel, there is good in it, I assure you. It is such a blessed, beneficent thought that here or there in the world, somewhere, far away—the true woman exists after all.
Borkman.
[Moving impatiently on the sofa.] Oh, do spare me that poetical nonsense.
Foldal.
[Looks at him, deeply wounded.] Do you call my holiest faith poetical nonsense?
Borkman.
[Harshly.] Yes I do! That is what has always prevented you from getting on in the world. If you would get all that out of your head, I could still help you on in life—help you to rise.