Quotes from Nancy A. Collins

The best advice I got as a writer was also the first advice, which came from the late fantasy author and editor Karl Edward Wagner: Any agent who charges to look at your work is a crook.

I became a horror fan during the early 1960s, back when Hammer was putting out their groundbreaking 'Dracula' series with Christopher Lee and Peter Cushing, and grew up watching 'Dark Shadows.'

Back when I was growing up, getting caught with a copy of 'Creepy,' 'Eerie' or 'Vampirella' was almost as bad as your parents finding out you were reading 'Playboy.'

I'm very excited about taking over the reins on Vampirella. I've really been enjoying myself so far.

I cannot sing Vampirella artist Patrick Berkenkotter's praises loudly or often enough.

If you could stay at this stage - you're 17, and you're always going to be in love with your first love - that's probably attractive.

Horror serves a cathartic role in human society, all throughout the world. It is a way of confronting the darkness, both within and without.

Personally, I don't trust people who go out of their way to state they never read or watch horror and insist there's something wrong with those of us who do.

The vampires in the 'VAMPS' series judge each other as harshly as they judge humans, and basically, vampires don't get along very well. So you've got a culture that's from cradle to grave like the worst high school you've ever been in.

One of the things that may appeal to teenagers is that vampires never change - they're frozen in that age.

Vampires are handy characters, as they can do double duty as monster/villains and the classic, misunderstood romantic hero.

I know about various fictional and folkloric vampire mythoses the way other people know about the personal life of celebrities.

you cannot shake hands with the Devil and not get sulphur on your sleeve.

Sleep: the stepchild of Death.

She knew that the only love her demon was capable of was self-destructive, cruel, vampiric, parasitic, and all the other words her best friends had used to describe Jerry, Alec, Christian, Matt, and the others whose names, faces, and genitalia had now blurred together in her memories. They were men incapable of love yet able to inspire suicide threats.

She pulled herself through the narrow window into the darkness, midwife to her own rebirth.

It was colder than a politician's heart that winter.

Things had gone badly at Hell House, although not quite as horribly as the '31 investigation. At least this time there were survivors, if you wanted to call being reduced to catatonia and raving lunacy 'surviving'.

On the side of the canvas canopy was painted in bold, somewhat faded script: Dr Mirablis Wondrous Elixir Re-Vitae.

Maybe you heard of me. I used to be famous, in a roundabout fashion.

Twenty-four hours ago, this had been a place where people lived, worked and planned for the future. Now it was a scene of carnage.

Every synapse in the punk's brain overloads and goes ka-blooey.

To see such a glorious mind as his overthrown—it is something you never forget.

Humans insist on defining reality by their standards. They are poorly equipped to do so, since they are selectively deaf and blind in one eye. They are beings with an insatiable need to categorize the universe that surrounds them, but demand that the facts reveal a universe suited for human cultivation and exploitation. Things must remain status quo.