This Suffering, This Unspeakable Capacity To Bleed

Do You Know What It Means To Be Loved By Death?... Do You Know What It Means To Have Death Know Your Name?

If You Want To Be A Writer, Write. Write And Write And Write. If You Stop, Start Again. Save Everything That You Write. If You Feel Blocked, Write Through It Until You Feel Your Creative Juices Flowing Again. Write. Writing Is What Makes A Writer, Nothing More And Nothing Less.

Lestat: I Despise You! I Ought To Destroy You-finish What I Started When I Made You. Turn You Into Ashes And Sift Them Through My Hands. You Know That I Could Do It! Like That! Like The Snap Of Mortal Fingers, I Could Do It. Burn You As I Burnt Your Little House. And Nothing Could Save You, Nothing At All.

I Never Knew What Life Was Until It Ran Out In A Red Gush Over Any Lips, My Hands!

I Saw Finally The Futility Of All These Gestures, That Witchcraft Is But A Matter Of Focus-that One Cann Apply One's Fierce And Immeasurable Energies To An Act Of Choice.