cut short by fire

BORKMAN.

  [angrily]  Oh, women!  They wreck and ruin our lives!  Tamper with our destinies!
Rob us of our victories! 

FOLDAL.

  Not all women!

BORKMAN.

  Oh?  Name me a single one who is worth anything!

FOLDAL.

  That’s very true. None of the few I know are worth much.

BORKMAN.

  [snorts scornfully]  So what’s the use of that? That such women do exist somewhere
if you never meet any?

FOLDAL.

  [Warmly]  Yes, John Gabriel, it does matter, I assure you.

It is such a noble and uplifting thought that here or there in the world, somewhere,
far away perhaps - the true woman exists after all.

BORKMAN.

  [Moving impatiently on the sofa]  Oh, do spare me that poetic nonsense.

(according to Wikipedia’s trivia, there is only one known picture in which Ibsen smiles)