Page:The collected works of Henrik Ibsen (Volume 11).djvu/131



No, you feel it so, too, don't you, Alfred! You could not either, could you?

No. For it is here, in the life of earth, that we living beings are at home.

Yes, here lies the kind of happiness that we can understand.

[Darkly.] Oh, happiness—happiness

You mean that happiness—that we can never find it again? [Looks inquiringly at him.] But if? [Vehemently.] No, no; I dare not say it! Nor even think it!

Yes, say it—say it, Rita.

[Hesitatingly.] Could we not try to? Would it not be possible to forget him?

Forget Eyolf?

Forget the anguish and remorse, I mean.