Quotes About Indifference

Fill me in on the details of your life." "I thought you didn't give a shit." "It'll give me something to do while I wait for you to stab me to death.

She wished she were as indifferent as she had always been with every other man. But there was something about Mr. Knight that made her notice him. Demanded that she notice him.

His entire life, he hadn't cared if he'd upset someone or made them angry. No one had mattered. He'd found a place inside himself where he was safe, where no one could get to him. But she could--she had.

He presented a mask of indifference to the rest of the world, but for her--and their future children-- he would be different. He would share fun and laughter.

At the evident risk of seeming ridiculous, I want to begin by saying that I have tried for much of my life to write as if I was composing my sentences to be read posthumously. I hope this isn't too melodramatic or self-centred a way of saying that I attempt to write as if I did not care what reviewers said, what peers thought, or what prevailing opinions may be.

The brief answer is that I have become inured without becoming indifferent.

Nor have I any idea why Said should consider Orwell's life a 'comfortable' one. Having taken a bullet through the throat, and while suffering from a demoralising and ultimately lethal case of TB, he lived on an astonishingly low budget and tried whenever possible to grow his own food and even to make his own furniture. Indeed, if there was anything affected about him, it might be his indifference to bourgeois life, his almost ostentatious austerity.

por qué iban «ellos» a molestarse con el tedio de la existencia humana, y menos aún con el del gobierno humano?

theory of natural selection itself seems calculated to foster selfishness at the expense of public good, violence, callous indifference to suffering, short term greed at the expense of long term foresight. If scientific theories could vote, evolution would surely vote Republican.

Sei que não sou o único que não se importa nem um pouco se ilusões religiosas forem ridicularizadas, mas se fosse o único, ainda assim não daria a mínima.

Does he know about me? George wonders; do any of them? Oh yes, probably. It wouldn't interest them. They don't want to know about my feelings or my glands or anything below my neck. I could just as well be a severed head carried into the classroom to lecture to them from a dish.

That is what War is, I thought: two ships pass each other, and nobody waves his hand.

I like hearing the sound of your voice, but I don't care a bit what you're saying.

You love your wars for the coffers, but for the warrior and the widow, the orphan and the owned, you've not two dry fucks to give.

They do not care if they are trapped or not, for we cannot hurt them.

You're right.I am crazy. But you know what else? I don't give a fuck.

Mr. Stanton never questioned his own authority to command, unless resisted. He cared nothing for the feeling of others. In fact it seemed to be pleasanter to him to disappoint than to gratify.

Heden ten dage verstaat men onder vrijheid echter de mogelijkheid om de geloofsovertuiging en de mening te kiezen die je het meest aanstaat en die allemaal inwisselbaar zijn - en het maakt de staat niet uit of je vrijmetselaar, christen, Jood of een volgeling van de Grote Turk bent. Zo wordt men onverschillig jegens de Waarheid.

Good God!" exclaimed Raoul. "How much more will the people need to wake them up?

The tragedy of modern man is not that he knows less and less about the meaning of his own life, but that it bothers him less and less.

To come up against someone who appeared not to give a damn about exerting petty power almost restored his faith in the public.

They soon lost interest in Sofya. She was just one more prisoner -with no more idea of her destination than anyone else. No one asked her name and patronymic; no one remembered her surname. She realized with surprise that although the process of evolution had taken millions of years, these people had needed only a few days to revert to the state of cattle, dirty and unhappy, captive and nameless.

Shargorodsky was a very gentle man, and quite helpless in any practical matter. He was the sort of man about whom people say, 'He's got the soul of a child,' or 'He's as kind as an angel.' And yet he could walk straight past a hungry child or a ragged old woman begging for crusts, feeling quite indifferent, still muttering his favourite lines of poetry.

In the blank wall of the world's indifference there had appeared a tiny snakelike fissure