I don't care what you do, I just don't want to be a mud hippie like you. [From 1994 woodstock]
I don't care what you do. As long as you know you belong to me.
He shouldn't have said that," repeated Adrian, eerily serious. He leaned his face toward mine. "I don't care if he's not the emotional type or the complimentary type or what. No one can look at you in this dress, in all that fire and gold, and start talking about anachronisms. If I were him, I would have said, 'You are the most beautiful creature I have ever seen walking this earth.
Is this freedom? Is it happiness? I don't know. I don't care anymore. It is different--it is being alive.
See the bowtie? I wear it and I don't care. That's why it's cool.
I don't care what you think. You're not my brother," Clary said. "You're a murderer." "I really don't see how those things cancel each other out," said Sebastian.
I don't care about risk to me," he hissed, leaning forward across the table. "I care about what happens to you! Dammit, I'm practically indestructible. Let me go. You stay behind." "Yes," Clary said, "Jace won't find that odd at all. You can just tell him you've always been secretly in love with him and you can't stand being parted.
Choose well or die. I don’t care which. Just don’t get blood on my coat.
Do you like him? Ty asked. "Not that I care." "I do," I said, because it was true. Even though it didn't matter anymore. "Not that I care you don't care. Though you clearly do care, and I don't care about that either." "Well, I don't care that you don't care that I don't care. In fact i'm glad. Because, um, if I were seeming someone that I liked, I'd want you to be happy for me.""Are you seeing someone?" I asked, pretty sure he wasn't. "Not that I care.
[N]othing about a book is so unmistakable and so irreplaceable as the stamp of the cultured mind. I don't care what the story is about or what may be the momentary craze for books that appear to have been hammered out by the village blacksmith in a state of intoxication; the minute you get the easy touch of the real craftsman with centuries of civilisation behind him, you get literature.
I believe music is a place everyone of us can go to. I don’t care who you are, where you were born, what you do with your life. Everyone can come here in music and be equal.
We're right here on this very spot. Besides, being lost is never a matter of not knowing where you are; it's a matter of not knowing where you aren't - and I don't care at all about where I'm not.
You know, there’s something when you just know you fit together. And I fit with you. I don’t care what you are, human or anything else. It’s like a need, Maddy. So please.” He stopped and looked at her desperately. Nakedly. “Give me a chance, Maddy.
This isn't a lie, actually. I don't care why Edward left. All I really want to know is why I wasn't enough to make him stay.
She's saying that's ok, Hey baby, do what you want I'll be your night lovin' thing I'll be the freak you can taunt And I don't care what you say I want to go too far I'll be your everything If you make me a star... Dirty Diana
As much as I don't care about those things, I think it's human nature to not want to feel totally insignificant.
And, after boasting this way of my tolerance, I come to the admission that it has a limit. Conduct may be founded on the hard rock or the wet marshes, but after a certain point I don’t care what it’s founded on. When I came back from the East last autumn I felt that I wanted the world to be in uniform and at a sort of moral attention forever; I wanted no more riotous excursions with privileged glimpses into the human heart. Only Gatsby, the man who gives his name to this book, was exempt from my reaction—Gatsby, who represented everything for which I have an unaffected scorn.
Kami said, "I want you to go in there and vamp that receptionist." "What?" Ash said blankly. "You know," Kami said. "Dazzle her with your charms. Rock her world. Go on." [...] "What," Ash said, "all of us?" "Do you want to stand around trying to guess if she likes pretty boys or rough trade?" Jared asked, gesturing lazily from Ash to himself. "Excuse me, what did you just call yourself?" Ash demanded. "No, wait a second, I don't care. What did you just call me?
Oh, God, I'm so lonely. An entire weekend streching ahead with no one to love or have fun with. Anyway, I don't care. I've got a lovely steamed ginger pudding from M&S to put in the microwave.
I don't care about the little guy. I just hate the big guy. I hate big smug people who think they can get away with things.
All I need is the power to be able to protect my comrades. So long as I can have the strength to do that, I don't care if I'm weaker than everyone in the world.
Boys. Listen up. We are going out for a girls’ night, where there will be dancing.” Kami did an illustrative shimmy. Angela looked resigned. Jared looked amused. “What was that?” “You’ve got to dance like nobody’s watching, Jared,” Kami informed him. “Have you considered that perhaps nobody’s watching because they’re too embarrassed for you?” “Fine,” said Kami, grinning at him. “Be a hater of dances. Be a hater of joy. I don’t care. You’re not invited!
How do you know I wouldn't have just been happy with the truth? I don’t care if my father was a deadbeat named Butternut. It doesn't change anything right now.” “His name wasn't really Butternut, was it?” Gansey asked Adam in a low voice.
I don't want to care. If I care about things, it'll just be worse, it'll just be another thing to worry about. It's less painful if I don't care.
It will kill me, it will kill me, it will kill me. And I don't care.
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