Louis: How do we seem to you? Do you find us beautiful, magical? Our white skin, our fierce eyes? "Drink", you ask me, do you have any idea of the thing you will become?
Louis: We reached the Mediterranean. I wanted those waters to be blue, but they were black, nighttime waters, and how I suffered then, straining to recall the color that in my youth I had taken for granted.
Louis: You see that old woman? That will never happen to you. You will never grow old, and you will never die. Claudia: And it means something else too, doesn't it? I shall never ever grow up.
Armand: You are beautiful, my friend. Lestat must have wept when he made you. Louis: Lestat? You knew Lestat? Armand: Knew him well enough not to mourn his passing
Santiago: Just as this flesh is pink now, soon it will turn gray and wrinkled with age. Mortal Woman on Stage: [weeping] Let me live. I don't care! Santiago: Then why should you care if you die now?
Louis: We searched village after village, country after country. And always we found nothing. I began to believe we were the only ones. There was a strange comfort in that thought. For what could the damned really have to say to the damned?
The chronicle of a man, the account of his life, his historiography, written as he lived out his life formed part of the rituals of his power. The disciplinary methods reversed this relation, lowered the threshold of describable individuality and mad...
there is no reason why anyone should understand how it works… and of course no reason why anyone should care … unless you are curious, in which case I love you, for curiosity about the world and all its corners is a beautiful thing.
The real world is in a much darker and deeper place than this, and most of it is occupied by jellyfish and things. We just happen to to forget all that. Don't you agree? Two-thirds of earth's surface is ocean, and all we can see with the naked eye is...
There is much to be said in favor of modern journalism. By giving us the opinions of the uneducated, it keeps us in touch of the ignorance of the community. By carefully chronicling the current events of contemporary life, it shows us of what very li...
We didn't want to worry about the formula that has been implanted into our brains - this verse/pre-chorus/chorus format. When we were writing 'The Papercut Chronicles,' we had no idea about any of that. We didn't know how to count bars or how to writ...
Louis: Bear me no ill will, my love, we are now even. Claudia: What do you mean? Louis: What died in that room was not that woman. What has died is the last breath in me that was human. Claudia: Yes, Father. At last we are even.
Louis: In the spring of 1988, I returned to New Orleans, and as soon as I smelled the air, I knew I was home. It was rich, almost sweet, like the scent of jasmine and roses around our old courtyard. I walked the streets, savoring that long lost perfu...
Armand: I know nothing of God, or the Devil. I have never seen a vision nor learned a secret that will damn or save my soul. And as far as I know, after four hundred years, I am the oldest living vampire in the world.
Louis: Lestat killed two, sometimes three a night. A fresh young girl, that was his favorite for the first of the evening. For seconds, he preferred a gilded beautiful youth. But the snob in him loved to hunt in society, and the blood of the aristocr...
Louis: I walked all night, I walked as I had walked years before when my mind swam with guilt at the thought of killing. I had thought of all the things I had done, and couldn't undo. And I longed for a moment's peace.
Louis: Thirty years had passed, yet her body remained that of an eternal child. Her eyes alone told the story of her age, staring out from under her doll-like curls, with a questioning that will one day need an answer.
New Orleans Whore: [fearful whispering] It's a coffin, it's a coffin. Lestat: What's that, my love? New Orleans Whore: It's a coffin. Lestat: Why, so it is. You must be dead. New Orleans Whore: I'm not dead, am I? Louis: No, you are not dead. Lestat:...
Louis: Whatever happened to Lestat I do not know. I go on, night after night. I feed on those who cross my path. But all my passion went with her golden hair. I'm a spirit of preternatural flesh. Detached. Unchangeable. Empty.
The well padded astrologer stroked his corpulent belly, as he stared down intently at his cowrie board. There was a frown on his moon shaped face, a face that had always considered good rich food his birthright, even as he strove to read the cryptic ...
The first time Akash took Supriya to view the pool, I rose up in strident protest, and he was astonished by the way she turned her face away, her eyes filled with terror. “I am petrified of water!” she whispered, as he tried to cajole her to at l...
