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It was as if this night were only one of thousands of nights, world without end, night curving into night to make a great arching line of which I couldn’t see the end, a night in which I roamed alone under cold, mindless stars.

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
World
Lines
Curving
Alone
Roamed
Stars
Mindless
Night
Nights
Ends
Thousands
Without
Couldn
Great
Line
Make
Cold
Arching

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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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I was particularly stunned by the casting of Cruise, who is no more my Vampire Lestat than Edward G. Robinson is Rhett Butler.
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I can't keep up with Stephen King's output.
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I read The Old Curiosity Shop before I began Blackwood Farm. I was amazed at the utter madness in that book.
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Remember always, he said, that nothing is as precious to us as the magnificent gift of life. Let the moon and the stars always remind you of this-that though we are tiny creatures in this universe, we are filled with life.
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And so this young one, this young one whom I had so loved, I had to forsake, no matter how broken my heart, no matter how lonely my soul, no matter how bruised my intellect and spirit.
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People who cease to believe in God or goodness altogether still believe in the devil. I don't know why. No, I do indeed know why. Evil is always possible. And goodness is eternally difficult.
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A perfectly evil Devil makes even less sense than a perfect God.
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Let the flesh instruct the mind.
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Something in me was responding now as the audience responded, not in fear, but in some human way, to the magic of that fragile painted set, the mystery of the lighted world there.
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I had wanted to say that my song was far too painful to sing.
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Don't you see? I'm not the spirit of any age. I'm at odds with everything and always have been! I have never belonged anywhere with anyone at any time!
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I loved words. I love to sing them and speak them and even now, I must admit, I have fallen into the joy of writing them.
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Revenge is the concern of those who are at some point or other beaten. I am not beaten, I told myself. No, not beaten. And victory is far more interesting to contemplate than revenge.
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I allowed myself to forget how totally I had fallen in love with Lestat's iridescent eyes, that I'd sold my soul for a many-colored and luminescent thing, thinking that a highly reflective surface conveyed the power to walk on water.
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But don't you see, all human decisions are made like this. Do you think the mother knows what will happen to the child in her womb? Dear God, we are lost, I tell you. What does it matter if you give it to me and it's wrong! There is no wrong! There is only desperation, and I would have it! I want to live forever with you.
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I know nothing, because I know too much, and understand not nearly enough and never will.
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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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Nothing in all the world is so nonsensical and contradictory, save mortals, that is, who live in the grip of the superstitions of the past.
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How could anyone love Him? What did you just tell me yourself about the world? Don't you see, everybody hates God now. It's not that God is dead in the twentieth century. It's that everybody hates Him! At least I think so.
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