Quotes about Indifference

We have learned to live with unholiness and have come to look upon it as the natural and expected thing.

All has happened to her that will happen to her. She has felt everything, borne everything, experienced everything, suffered everything, lost everything, mourned everything. She is resigned, with that resignation which resembles indifference, as death resembles sleep. She no longer avoids anything. Let all the clouds fall upon her, and all the ocean sweep over her! What matters it to her? She is a sponge that is soaked.

Their own destiny is a far-off thing to them ... One declines, descends, trickles away, even crumbles away, and yet is hardly conscious of it one's self. It always ends, it is true, in an awakening, but the awakening is tardy. In the meantime, it seems as though we held ourselves neutral in the game which is going on between our happiness and our unhappiness. We are the stake, and we look on at the game with indifference.

I cannot hate them because nothing binds me to them; I have nothing in common with them.

Persecution is an enemy the Church has met and mastered many times. Indifference could prove to be a far more dangerous foe.

I felt a melting in me. No more my splintered heart and maddened hand were turned against the wolfish world. This soothing savage had redeemed it. There he sat, his very indifference speaking a nature in which there lurked no civilized hypocrisies and bland deceits. Wild he was; a very sight of sights to see; yet I began to feel myself mysteriously drawn towards him.

Don't tell your problems to people: eighty percent don't care; and the other twenty percent are glad you have them.

The next time the novelist rings the bell I will not stir though the meeting-house burn down.

Eddie, what do we care about people like him? We're driving an express, and they're riding on the roof, making a lot of noise about being leaders. Why should we care? We have enough power to carry them along — haven't we?

She did not mind this new background; she was indifferent to the slums as she had been indifferent to the drawing rooms.

The prospect of experiencing pleasure was not worth the effort; he had no desire to experience pleasure.

He could not condemn them without understanding; and he could not understand. Did he like them? No, he thought; he had wanted to like them, which was not the same. He had wanted it in the name of some unstated potentiality which he had once expected to see in any human being. He felt nothing for them now, nothing but the merciless zero of indifference, not even the regret of a loss.