Quotes from Anne Rice

Now you, brave one, little Ganymede of the blasphemers, you willful brazen cherub.

Men don't know what can happen. They're happy. But women know everything that can happen. They worry all the time.

What could these words mean to her? They must have sounded like old poetry. How could I expect her to grasp what I had said.

Slowly over my consciousness of the sickbed and the humid room there dropped the dark veil of Heaven. Spread out in all directions were the sentinel stars, splendid as they shone above the glinting towers of the glass city, and in this half-sleep, now aided by the most tranquil and blissful illusions, the stars sang to me.

though the melody kept putting its hooks into me and dragging me with it mentally so that I was dancing in my head against my will. And

Far away in another realm where pianos ought to be played and little boys should dance, they stood, the two like painted cutout figures against the swimming light of the room, merely gazing at me, he the little desert rogue with his fancy black cigarette, puffing away and smacking his lips and raising his eyebrows, and she merely floating it seemed, resolute and thoughtful as before, unshocked, untouched perhaps.

I know nothing of those heroes of macabre facts masquerading as fiction.

I am think about your request in writing. You see you will get something from me. I find myself yielding to it, almost as one of our human victims yields to us, discovering perhaps as the rain continues to fall outside, as the café continues with its noisy chatter, to think that this might not be the agony I presumed-reading back over the two thousand years-but almost a pleasure, like the act of drinking blood itself.

all you have to lose in death, no matter how long you've lived, is the present moment in which you die.

The house had me in thrall.

And why call all this Satanic?" I asked. "Why not call it chaos? That is all it would be." "Because," she said, "that is what men would call it. They invented Satan, didn't they? Satanic is merely the name they give to the behavior of those who would disrupt the orderly way in which men want to live.

Mozart was always my happy guardian, the Little Genius, I called him, Master of His Choir of Angels, that is Mozart; but Beethoven is the Master of My Dark Heart, the captain of my broken life and all my failures.

I wanted nights to memorize this painting. I wanted at once to listen at the portals of scholars who could tell me what it was about, for I couldn't possibly decipher it! I need knowledge for this. And more than anything, its sheer beauty spoke to my soul.

He was dying, no matter what his visions had told him, and no slight tender kiss of blood could save him now.

She had grown still and was staring at me yet, her eyes full of the fire of the torch, her lower lip trembling, and a sigh coming out of her as though she was about to cry again.

Old age had taught me to respect danger.

He vivido muchas mentiras porque no soporto la debilidad que engendra la ira y no puedo aceptar la irracionalidad del amor.

Her eyes grew brighter and it seemed she looked about, as though absorbing the beauty of the walls.

All my gloomy years were gone as if a million candles had been lighted in this chapel.

I reach now for a victim who is not easy for me to overcome: my own past. Perhaps this victim will flee from me with a speed that equals my own. Whatever, I seek now a victim that I have never faced. And there is a thrill of the hunt in it, what the modern world calls investigation.

In rambling drunken confession, the father gave forth his guilt as though it belonged to anyone who roused.

Had I ever loved anyone more than I loved him? Had I ever revealed more of my soul to anyone than I revealed to him?

Y nuestro cerebro da color a la lluvia. Y el trueno es como algo que recuerda algo. Stan Rice.

Give men enough time and they will turn on anyone.