They don't really care about us.

They lost their humanity, in our eyes, because of a certain willed ignorance on their part.

All over the non-human world, with few exceptions, each being seeks the satisfaction of his own desires, if not with positive disregard for the happiness and misery of the rest of the universe, at least with sincere unconcern. There is no courtesy, sympathy, or amenity there—a cold, heartless, implacable world of strangers.

Now they were as strangers; worse than strangers, for they could never become acquainted.

If no one in the entire world cared about you, did you really exist at all?

That child of Hell had nothing human; nothing lived in him but fear and hatred.

Too unconcerned to love and too passionless to hate, too detached to be selfish and too lifeless to be unselfish, too indifferent to experience joy and too cold to express sorrow, they are neither dead nor alive; they merely exist.

They had been in love, desperately in love, but the universe cared nothing for the vicissitudes of the human heart.

They have no consciousness of themselves as persons or as members of an oppressed class.

The wretched have no friends.

I care for no man on earth, and no man on earth cares for me.

They have no hope of death, and their darkened life is so mean that they are envious of every other fate. Earth allows no mention of them to exist: mercy and justice reject them: let us not talk of them, but look and pass.

They will only care when you're gone.

Alone, as before, in the universe Without hope and without love!..