He could not think what his friend was getting at.

Was he poking fun, or not?
'At this moment, I couldn't say off-hand,' he replied, with faintly ironic humour.
'Do you think love is the be-all and the end-all of life ?' Birkin asked, with direct, attentive seriousness.
'Of my own life ?' said Gerald.
'Yes.' There was a really puzzled pause.
'I can't say,' said Gerald.

'It hasn't been, so far.' 'What has your life been, so far ?' 'Oh--finding out things for myself--and getting experiences--and making things GO.' Birkin knitted his brows like sharply moulded steel.
'I find,' he said, 'that one needs some one REALLY pure single activity--I should call love a single pure activity.

But I DON'T really love anybody--not now.' 'Have you ever really loved anybody ?' asked Gerald.
'Yes and no,' replied Birkin.
'Not finally ?' said Gerald.
'Finally--finally--no,' said Birkin.
'Nor I,' said Gerald.
'And do you want to ?' said Birkin.
Gerald looked with a long, twinkling, almost sardonic look into the eyes of the other man.
'I don't know,' he said.
'I do--I want to love,' said Birkin.
'You do ?' 'Yes.

I want the finality of love.' 'The finality of love,' repeated Gerald.