– Johan? Have we missed something important?
– All of us?
– No, you and I.
– What would that be?
– At times I can read your mind, and I feel such tenderness that I forget myself. Without having to efface myself. It’s a new sensation. Do you understand.
– I understand.
– Johan? Sometimes it grieves me that I have never loved anyone. I do not think I have ever been loved either. That distresses me.
– Now you are being dramatic.
– Am I?
– I know what I feel. I love you in my selfish way. And I think you love me in your fussy, pestering way. We love each other in an earthly and imperfect way. But you are so demanding.
– I am.
– But here I am, in the middle of the night, without much fanfare, in a dark house somewhere in the world, sitting with my arms around you. And your arms are around me. I am not the most compassionate of men.
– No, you are not.
– I do not seem to have the imagination for it.
– No, you are rather unimganitaive.
– I do not know what my love looks like, and I can not describe it. Most of the time I can not feel it.
= And you rally think I love you too?
– Yes, I do.But if we harp on it, our love will evaporate.
– Let us sit like this all night.
– Oh, no, let us not.
– One leg is gone to sleep, my left arm is practically dislocated, I am sleepy, and my back is cold.
– Then let us snuggle down.
– Yes, let us.
Marianne and Johan Last scene in "Scenes of a Marriage - Episode 6 Irmgard Bergman