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Garden of Pain, I need you. What were the songs of beasts to the cries of sentient souls?

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
Cry
Garden
Songs
Pain
Sentient
Song
Beasts
Soul
Cries
Need
Beast
Needs
Souls

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I don't like myself you know. I love myself. I'm devoted to myself till my dying day. But I don't like myself.
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It was over now, and the meaningless world was tolerable and need not be explained. And never would it be, and how foolish I had ever been to think so.
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First-person narrators is the way I know how to write a book with the greatest power and chance of artistic success.
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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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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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I'm hoping what all sentient beings hope ... that somehow I'm part of something larger than myself, in which I play a role, an actual role that is somehow intended and meaningful.
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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.
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Ah, come now. I look like an angel, but I'm not. The old rules of nature encompass many creatures like me. We're beautiful like the diamond-backed snake, or the striped tiger, yet we're merciless killers
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The world doesn't need any more mediocrity or hedged bets.
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Despair was so familiar to me it could be banished by the sight of a beautiful mannikin in the window. It could be dispelled by the spectacle of lights surrounding a tower. It could be lifted by the great ghostly shape of St. Patrick's coming into view. And then despair would come again.
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Don't bend don't water it down don't try to make it logical don't edit your own soul according to the fashion. Rather, follow your most intense obsessions mercilessly. Only if you do that can you hope to make the reader feel every particle of what you, the writer, have known and feel compelled to share.---Forward to Kafka's Short stories
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Our language needs endless synonyms for beautiful the eyes could see what the tongue cannot possibly describe.
Anne Rice
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Roman influence seeds itself, sprouting mighty oaks right through the modern forest of computers, digital disks, microviruses and space satellites.
Anne Rice
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I am not times fool, nor a god hardened by the millennia I am not the trickster in the black cape nor the sorrowful wanderer. I have a conscience. I know right from wrong I know what I do and yes, I do it. I am the Vampire Lestat. That's your answer do with it as you will.
Anne Rice
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It's so easy to persecute an older, overweight, unwise, crude, ignorant woman who may very well be a good person at heart who has achieved a great deal in her life. So easy to vilify her and hate her and try to destroy her life. Woe to anyone today who is not slender, young, clever and politically correct.
Anne Rice
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The highest truths a person could discover were rooted in the natural world.
Anne Rice
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But the sky was never quite the same shade of blue again.
Anne Rice
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Curses of vanished elders echoed down on me too pretty, too soft, too pale, eyes far too full of the Devil, ah, that devilish smile
Anne Rice
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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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I was obsessed with religious questions, the basics: Why are we here? Why is the world so beautiful?
Anne Rice