"God, you're just like the Ancients." He looks at the Devil in varying disappointment and disgust, frustrated that he could have ever expected any other response. But the idea - to have so much form and awareness, to see humanity in a more complete sense, to glimpse their minds and their souls and their numbness and their desperation and to be indifferent to it - he can't even imagine it. He'd tried to follow the Others' rules, he really had. He'd tried to bind himself to their constraints. But he couldn't ignore the beauty of the universe and those that populated it. He couldn't bear to simply watch and neglect and ignore.

In the end, that had been his undoing. But he'd preferred that.

"They said the same. Interference was supposed to be - beneath us." The righteous indignation telegraphs well enough how Daniel feels about that policy.