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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
Would
Turn
Love
Passion
Suffering
Chose
Turns
Crowd
Death
Crowds
Persons
Release
Person
Suppose
Heart
Suffer

More quotes by Anne Rice

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It's not so, I said. And how long do you think it will sustain you, feeling and seeing and touching and tasting, if there is no love? No one with you?
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I stumble through a carnival of horrors
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What is fear after all? It is indecision. You seek some way to resist, escape. There is none.
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Keep your secrets Keep your silence It is a better gift than truth
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The fact that I loved you was the greatest lie I have ever lived.
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The most difficult novel I have had to write in terms of just getting it done was The Vampire Lestat. It took a year to write.
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Amazing what the British do with language the nuances of politeness. The world's great diplomats, surely.
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The highest truths a person could discover were rooted in the natural world.
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I resolved to move just a little bit more slowly through the world, to look around myself with greater care, and to try to remain conscious of all that was going on around me at all times.
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It's an awful truth that suffering can deepen us, give a greater lustre to our colours, a richer resonance to our words. That is, if it doesn't destroy us, if it doesn't burn away the optimism and the spirit, the capacity for visions, and the respect for simple yet indispensable things.
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Memory was a curse, yes, he thought, but it was also the greatest gift. Because if you lost memory you lost everything.
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Dickens is a very underrated writer at the moment. Everyone in his time admired him but I think right now he's not spoken of enough.
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Merciful death. How you love your precious guilt
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Mortal beauty often makes me ache, and mortal grandeur can fill me with that longing...but Paris, Paris drew me close to her heart, so I forgot myself entirely. Forgot the damned and questing preternatural thing that doted on mortal skin and mortal clothing. Paris overwhelmed, and lightened and rewarded more richly than any promise.
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What is written beneath this heavy handsome book cover will count, so sayeth this cover.
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I like to read things I've read before. It's like listening over and over to your favorite song.
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I love New Orleans physically. I love the trees and the balmy air and the beautiful days. I have a beautiful house here.
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His blood coursed through my veins sweeter than life itself. And as it did, Lestats words made sense to me. I knew peace only when I killed and when I heard his heart in that terrible rhythm, I knew again what peace could be.
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My own funeral, I'd like to be laid out in a coffin in my own house. I would like my coffin to be put in the double parlor, and I would like all the flowers to be white.
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It's an awful truth that suffering can deepen us, give a greater lustre to our colours, a richer resonance to our words.
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