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Suppose death had a heart to love and to release you, to whom would he turn this passion, would you chose a person from the crowd there. A person to suffer as you suffer.

Anne Rice

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Anne Rice
Age: 83
Born: 1941
Born: October 4
Author
Novelist
Screenwriter
Writer
New Orleans
Louisiana
Anne O'Brien
A. N. Roquelaure
Anne Rampling
Howard Allen O'Brien
Howard Allen Frances O'Brien
Person
Suppose
Heart
Suffer
Would
Turn
Love
Passion
Suffering
Chose
Turns
Crowd
Death
Crowds
Persons
Release

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His Back was turned to the end of the world and the end of the world was quiet.
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Thank God he killed the guy. Oh, now, wait a minute. What kind of a prayer was that!
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If I am an angel, paint me with black wings.
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It was as if when I looked into his eyes I was standing alone on the edge of the world...on a windswept ocean beach. There was nothing but the soft roar of the waves.
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Paris was a universe whole and entire unto herself, hollowed and fashioned by history so she seemed in this age of Napoleon III with her towering buildings, her massive cathedrals, her grand boulevards and ancient winding medieval streets - as vast and indestructible as nature itself.
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The evil of one murder is infinite, and my guilt is like my beauty - eternal. I cannot be forgiven, for there is no one to forgive me for all I've done.
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Every moment must be first known and then savored.
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My efforts with Hollywood are like things written in water.
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The only power that exists is inside ourselves.
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To write something, you have to risk making a fool of yourself.
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We have such a terrible, terrible misconception of science. We think it involves the definite, the precise, the known it is a horrid series of gates to an unknown as vast of the universe which means endless.
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The greatest create of power you have on earth, whether you are an angel, a spirit, a man or woman or child is to help others.
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Very few beings really seek knowledge in this world. Mortal or immortal, few really ASK. On the contrary, they try to wring from the unknown the answers they have already shaped in their own minds.
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Writers write about what obsesses them. You draw those cards. I lost my mother when I was 14. My daughter died at the age of 6. I lost my faith as a Catholic. When I'm writing, the darkness is always there. I go where the pain is.
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Obsession led me to write. It's been that way with every book I've ever written. I become completely consumed by a theme, by characters, by a desire to meet a challenge.
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No matter how rudely someone treats you, remain kind. Walking away at peace with yourself is worth it.
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He had never expected death to be this quiet, this secretive, this easy.
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For several long moments we remained locked together, and I think I covered her hair with small sacred kisses, her perfume crucifying me with memories.
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-You are on the verge of being truly mad. -No, not at all. Look at me. I can tie my shoelaces. See?
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I congratulate myself on not having arrived into the world until the present time. This age suits my taste.
Anne Rice