First-person narrators is the way I know how to write a book with the greatest power and chance of artistic success.

And he would listen, making only a few comments, always sympathetic, so that when I left him I had the distinct impression he had solved everything for me.

Who has a right to tell me I have no gift, no talent, no passion …’ he murmured. ‘Why do people say those things to you when youre young? Doesn’t seem fair, does it?”No, darling,...

I was feeling fear. Not a wild, mortal fear, but something cold like a hook in my side.

But to think there was meaning, a scheme to things, well, that was quite beyond her philosophical reach. She feared as she always had, that all that was ever meant was loneliness, hard work, striving...

They float upon the surface of the darkness in which I’m drowning.

Doesn’t matter now, devils who paint angels.”

When I write something, every word of it is meant. I can’t say it enough.

when we are weary, we speak lovingly of dreams as if they embodied our true deisres-What we WOULD have when that which we DO have so sorely disappoints us

Amazing what the British do with language; the nuances of politeness. The world’s great diplomats, surely.

I touched the small sacred images. I shook my head and bit my lip, as if to say, How awful that he should have stolen these! But I also found it very funny. And further...

I wanted to kiss her, she was beautiful again to me. But I dared not risk it. It wasn’t only that I would have frightened her, it was that the desire to kill her was...

[…] so important to believe in a concept of goodness, even if we make it up ourselves. We don’t really make it up. it’s there, isn’t it?””Oh, yes, it’s there,” she said. “It’s there because...

To really ask is to open the door to the whirlwind. The answer may annihilate the question and the questioner.

I claim Dickens as a mentor. He’s my teacher. He’s one of my driving forces.

Merciful death. How you love your precious guilt

Don’t be a fool for the Devil, darling.

I would die rather than live without you. I would die the same way he died. I can’t bear you to look at me the way you did. I cannot bear it if you do...

Consequently, if you believe God made Satan, you must realize that all Satan’s power comes from God and so that Satan is simply God’s child, and that we are God’s children also. There are no...

None of us really changes over time. We only become more fully what we are.

She had understood before she had ever dreamed of a city such as this, where every texture, every color, leapt out at you, where every fragrance was a drug, and the air itself was something...

To write something, you have to risk making a fool of yourself.

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...

We all suffer under a curse, the curse that we know more than we can endure, and there is nothing, absolutely nothing we can do about the force and the lure of this knowledge.

I am in love with you’, I responded.He laughed the most beguiling and gentle laugh.’Of course you are,’ he replied. ‘I understand perfectly because I’m in love with myself. The fact that I’m not transfixed...

Goddamn it, do it yourself. You’re five hundred years old and you can’t use a telephone? Read the directions. What are you, an immortal idiot?

You do not know your vampire nature. You are like an adult who, looking back on his childhood, realizes that he never appreciated it. You cannot, as a man, go back to the nursery and...

She had learnt a painful lesson, she thought – that as they die, the ones we love, we lose our witnesses, our watchers, those who know and understand the tiny little meaningless patterns, those words...

I know nothing of God or the Devil. I have never seen a vision nor learned a secret that would damn or save my soul.

God kills indescriminantly, and so shall we. For no creatures under God are as we are, none so like him as ourselves.

Writers, as they gain success, feel like outsiders because writers don’t come together in real groups.

I never lie,” I said offhand. “At least not to those I don’t love.

Sometimes it seems that light can transform anything! That it is an undeniable and irreducible metaphor for grace. But do the people of the ranchitos know this? Is it for beauty that they do it?...

Who could trust language?

Lestat: Toughen up baby. I’m looking for the eternal scum.

Information age. I guess I’m part of it, even if I can’t remember how to use my iPhone from week to week, and have to learn how to send e-mails all over again every couple...

I kept glancing at him and away from him, as if his green eyes were hurting me. In modern parlance he was a laser beam. Deadly and delicate he seemed. His victims had always loved...

Life has no meaning any more does it? The wine has no taste, the food sickens you, there seems no reason for any of it, does there? But what if I could give it back...

I do not read the ancient languages, but I am beginning to study Greek.

Oh Lestat, you deserved everything that’s ever happened to you. You better not die. You might actually go to hell.

The human heart is my school.

The horror was this: the others.

I never knew what life was until it ran out in a red gush over any lips, my hands!

You do have a story inside you; it lies articulate and waiting to be written — behind your silence and your suffering.

Lasher,’ she said, ‘for the wind which you send that lashes the grasslands, for the wind that lashes the leaves from the trees.

We’re frightened of what makes us different.

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.

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...

You have a light in you that’s almost blinding. But in me there’s only darkness. Sometimes I think it’s like the darkness that infected you that night in the inn when you began to cry...

I can’t help being a gorgeous fiend. It’s just the card I drew.