You don't blame us for being here, do you? After all, we have no place to go. No home... Incidentally, what an excellent day for an exorcism...
But a myth, to speak plainly, to me is like a menu in a fancy French restaurant: glamorous, complicated camouflage for a fact you wouldn't otherwise swallow, like maybe lima beans.
From the cab stepped a tall old man. Black raincoat and hat and a battered valise. He paid the driver, then turned and stood motionless, staring at the house. The cab pulled away and rounded the corner of Thirty-sixty Street. Kinderman quickly pulled out to follow. AS he turned the corner, he noticed that the tall old man hadn't moved but was standing under the streetlight glow, in mist, like a melancholy traveler frozen in time.
God never talks. But the devil keeps advertising, Father. The devil does a lot of commercials.
How many husbands and wives must believe they have fallen out of love because their hearts no longer race at the sight of their beloveds!
Like the brief doomed flare of exploding suns that registers dimly on blind men's eyes, the beginning of the horror passed almost unnoticed; in the shriek of what followed, in fact, was forgotten and perhaps not connected to the horror at all.
Perhaps evil is the crucible of goodness... and perhaps even Satan - Satan, in spite of himself - somehow serves to work out the will of God.
This century hasn't got the lock on insanity.
We mourn the blossoms of May because they are to whither; but we know that May is one day to have its revenge upon November, by the revolution of that solemn circle which never stops---which teaches us in our height of hope, ever to be sober, and in our depth of desolation, never to despair.
Yet I think the demon's target is not the possessed; it is us . . . the observers . . . every person in this house. And I think---I think the point is to make us despair; to reject our own humanity, Damien: to see ourselves as ultimately bestial; as ultimately vile and putrescent; without dignity; ugly; unworthy.
I lived in Georgetown in the late '70s about four houses down from the steps.
Well, the research into it affected me. And the novel, it very much strengthened my faith.
I'm not aware that I was consciously influenced by any director, though these things often happen unnoticed, submerged in the unconscious.
I get cassettes near Academy Award time of every movie that's made that thinks it has some kind of chance for a nomination - that's when I watch my movies.
I'd sold the book first. Actually to a paperback publisher. I had nothing. I just had the idea.
I have never read horror, nor do I consider The Exorcist to be such, but rather as a suspenseful supernatural detective story, or paranormal police procedural.
I've been campaigning like anything for restoring these changes. For 27 years. I wrote a book about it, well, a portion of the book was devoted to these scenes and why they should have been in the movie.
Bantam Press. And they commissioned me to write it. And when that was completed, they sold it to Harper and Row. And then I put it out to every movie studio in town. And they all turned it down.
I didn't read The Haunting of Hill House until sometime early in the 1990's.
Horror does not interest me, and so I know little of its practicioners, old or current.
I tried to make every bit of it as creepy as I could. And I had the same response you do. I feel the same way. The hospital scenes, that procedure was so real.
And the sad truth is that nobody wants me to write comedy. The Exorcist not only ended that career, it expunged all memory of its existence.
More William Peter Blatty Quotations (Based on Topics)
God - Sadness - Movies - Books - Love - Advertising - Hope - Dignity - Truth - Change - Man - Belief & Faith - Humanity - Good & Evil - Facts - Work & Career - Sense & Perception - Comedy - Idea - View All William Peter Blatty Quotations
More William Peter Blatty Quotations (By Book Titles)
- The Exorcist
O. Henry - Dale Carnegie - T. H. White - Oliver Wendell Holmes - Margaret J. Wheatley - Karen Armstrong - Denis Waitley - Bram Stoker - Ayn Rand - Arthur C. Clarke