I love New Orleans physically. I love the trees and the balmy air and the beautiful days. I have a beautiful house here.

I would have done just about anything for him.

I loved words. I love to sing them and speak them and even now, I must admit, I have fallen into the joy of writing them.

But the sky was never quite the same shade of blue again.

Stephen King in many respects is a wonderful writer. He has made a contribution. People in the future will be able to pick up Stephen King's books and learn a lot about who we were by reading those books.

I love you still, that's the torment of it. Lestat I never loved. But you! The measure of my hatred is that love. They are the same! Do you know now how much I hate you!

It's an awful truth that suffering can deepen us, give a greater lustre to our colours, a richer resonance to our words. That is, if it doesn't destroy us, if it doesn't burn away the optimism and the spirit, the capacity for visions, and the respect for simple yet indispensable things.