MARTIN. I believe in revolutions, not in futile personal rebellions.
KEN. [To TIPPY.] Do you get him?
TIPPY. I think so.
KEN. For God's sake, do you agree with him?
TIPPY. Listen, old man, you believe in those plans of yours ...
KEN. No. I don't believe in anything, in anything, do you hear? Not in the love of a father for his son, or in the love of a wife for her husband, or in the loyalty of friends--or in the integrity of one's purposes, or in the sincerity of one's hopes, or in the greatness of one's ambitions.
TIPPY. That's how you feel now, Ken
MARTIN. You know doggone well you believe in your work. You love it. You live it.
KEN. [Quietly.] So you think I ought to call up Prescott and apologize. Is that it?
MARTIN. Why not? A son of a bitch like Prescott? [A moment's silence.]