Anne Rice Quotes (140 Quotes)

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.

I never changed after that. I sought for nothing in the one great source of change which is humanity. And even in my love and absorption with the beauty of the world, I sought to learn nothing that could be given back to humanity. I drank of the beauty of the world as a vampire drinks. I was satisfied. I was filled to the brim. But I was dead. And I was changeless.

Who knew that better than I, who had presided over the death of my own body, seeing all I called human wither and die only to form an unbreakable chain which held me fast to this world yet made me forever its exile, a specter with a beating heart?

I'd thought I knew what beauty was in women; but she'd surpassed all the language I had for it.

We breathe the light, we breathe the music, we breathe the moment as it passes through us.

And I realized that I'd tolerated him this long because of self-doubt.

I was a newborn vampire, weeping at the beauty of the night.

You know nothing... And suppose the vampire who made you knew nothing, and the vampire who made that vampire knew nothing, and the vampire before him knew nothing, and so it goes back and back, nothing proceeding from nothing, until there is nothing! And we must live with the knowledge that there is no knowledge.

The spirit who inhabits her animates us all. Destroy the host, you destroy the power. The young die first; the old wither slowly; the eldest perhaps would go last. But she is the Queen of the Damned, and the Damned can't live without her.

Words. Borne on the ever swelling current of hatred, like flowers opening in the current, petals peeling back, then falling apart.

And my heart beat faster for the mountains of eastern Europe, finally, beat faster for the one hope that somewhere we might find in that primitive countryside the answer to why under God this suffering was allowed to exist - why under God it was allowed to begin, and how under God it might be ended. I had not the courage to end it, I knew, without that answer.

I was in the black silence of a medieval street, and blindly I followed its sharp turns, comforted by the height of its narrow tenements, which seemed at any moment capable of falling together, closing this alleyway under indifferent stars like a seam.

Believe in angels? Then believe in vampires. Believe in me. There are worse things on earth.

There are too many other inexplicable things around us--horrors, threats, mysteries that draw you in and then inevitably disenchant you. Back to the predictable and humdrum. The prince is never going to come, everybody knows that; and maybe Sleeping Beauty's dead.

Z ponurych proroków wieków minionych nowy wiek uczyni? g?upców

And then there came the pounding of another drum, as if another giant were coming yards behind him, and each giant, intent on his own drum, gave no notice to the rhythm of the other. The sound grew louder and louder until it seemed to fill not just my hearing but all my senses, to be throbbing in my lips and fingers, in the flesh of my temples, in my veins.

It was as if the empty nights were made for thinking of him. And sometimes I found myself so vividly aware of him it was as if he had only just left the room and the ring of his voice were still there. And somehow, there was a disturbing comfort in that, and, despite myself, I'd envision his face.

Do you know what I think about crying? I think some people have to learn to do it. But once you learn, once you know how to really cry, there's nothing quite like it. I feel sorry for those who don't know the trick. It's like whistling or singing.

As for oblivion, well, we can wait a little while for that.

Give me a man or woman who has read a thousand books and you give me an interesting companion. Give me a man or woman who has read perhaps three and you give me a very dangerous enemy indeed.

My efforts with Hollywood are like things written in water.

Stephen King in many respects is a wonderful writer. He has made a contribution. People in the future will be able to pick up Stephen King's books and learn a lot about who we were by reading those books.

I was obsessed with religious questions, the basics: Why are we here? Why is the world so beautiful?

I'm going to keep on dealing with the supernatural in a lot of ways.

. . . 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 drawn in water with a stick. And there is nothing left but the endless flow.

Merciful death, how you love your precious guilt.

The world doesn't need any more mediocrity or hedged bets.

But at that moment I heard Claudia's voice. She was calling my name. I turned, and, through the tangled vines I saw her distant and tiny, like a white flame on the faint luminescent shell road. concerning the way claudia looked

Her blood coursed through my veins sweeter than life itself. And as it did, Lestat's words made sense to me. I knew peace only when I killed and when I heard her heart in that terrible rhythm, I knew again what peace could be.

I broke with my religion in college.

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.

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

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

The only pain in pleasure is the pleasure of the pain.

What does it mean to die when you can live until the end of the world

Memnoch the Devil happen to be my favorite of all The Vampire Chronicles.

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.

Obviously, a writer can't know everything about what she writes. It's impossible.

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.

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.

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

In spite of all the refinements of society that conspired to make art the dizzying perfection of the string quartet or the sprawling grandeur of Fragonards canvases beauty was savage. It was as dangerous and lawless as the earth had been eons before man had one single coherent thought in his head or wrote codes of conduct on tablets of clay. Beauty was a Savage Garden.

You can look at the New York Times Bestseller List and you can be pretty sure that the writers on that list don't know each other very well.

And I knew my vision of the garden of savage beauty had been a true vision. There was meaning in the world, yes, and laws, and inevitability, but they had only to do with the aesthetic and in this Savage Garden, these innocent ones belonged in the vampire's arms. A thousand other things can be said about the world, but only aesthetic principles can be verified, and these things alone remain the same.

I read The Old Curiosity Shop before I began Blackwood Farm. I was amazed at the utter madness in that book.

You'll sing a song of victory, eternally, though there is none to be had.

I can't keep up with Stephen King's output.

Invest in a feather duster - the possibilities are endless.

We need to stop fighting Christian against Christian. I have no time for anything but trying to love other people. That is a full-time job.