“Crushed under his soles whole clusters of the thorns that had pierced my skin.”

Almost as soon as she arrives on the island, Susan’s foot is injured by a thorn. She is almost rendered lame by the injury, but, as she looks closer, she sees that Friday has suffered the same injury many times over. The manner in which Friday is attuned to the harsh living conditions of the island illustrates how acclimatized to suffering he has become while living with Cruso and how ill-prepared Susan is for this way of life.

“The stranger (who was of course the Cruso I told you of).”

Susan’s narration has an intended audience. As well as the speech marks that begin each new paragraph, she occasionally addressed the unnamed “you,” which may be either the reader or Foe. These asides remind the reader that Susan is not a traditional literary storyteller. She is not narrating as if she were composing a novel; she is sharing a personal story with an acquaintance. This sense of intimacy and familiarity lends a verisimilitude to Susan’s storytelling and makes her a more empathetic narrator.

“Nothing I have forgotten is worth the remembering.”

In his dilapidated mental state, Cruso has no interest in self-preservation. He is willing to let his identity erode into nothingness, partially due to an unspoken self-loathing.