Intoxication is fleeting. I've had such spells, I admit.
This happens to be something different.
DR. SCHIMMELPFENNIG
Hm!
LOTH
I'm perfectly sober all through it. Do you imagine that I surround my
darling with a kind of a--well, how shall I put it--a kind of an aureole?
Not In the least. She lias her faults; she isn't remarkably beautiful, at
least--well, she's certainly not exactly homely either. Judging her quite
objectively--of course it's entirely a matter of taste--I haven't seen
such a sweet girl before in my life. So when you talk of mere
intoxication--nonsense! I am as sober as possible. But, my friend, this
is the remarkable thing: I simply can't imagine myself without her any
longer. It seems to me like an amalgam, as when two metals are so
intimately welded together that you can't say any longer, here's the one,
there's the other. And it all seems so utterly inevitable. In
short--maybe I'm talking rot--or what I say may seem rot to you, but so
much is certain: a man who doesn't know _that_ is a kind of cool-blooded
fishy creature. That's the kind of creature I was up till now, and that's
the kind of wretched thing you are still.
DR. SCHIMMELPFENNIG
That's a very complete set of symptoms.
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