GARCIN: […] I aimed at being a real man. A tough, as they say. I staked everything on the same horse. . . . Can one possibly be a coward when one’s deliberately courted danger at every turn? And can one judge a life by a single action?
INEZ: Why not? For thirty years you dreamt you were a hero, and condoned a thousand petty lapses—because a hero, of course, can do no wrong. An easy method, obviously. Then a day came when you were up against it, the red light of real danger—and you took the train to Mexico.
GARCIN: I “dreamt,” you say. It was no dream. When I chose the hardest path, I made my choice deliberately. A man is what he wills himself to be.
INEZ: Prove it. Prove it was no dream. It’s what one does, and nothing else, that shows the stuff one’s made of.