But I still did not realize how mad she was, and how accustomed to dreaming; and that she would not cry out for reality, rather would feed reality to her dreams, a demon elf feeding her spinning wheel with the reeds of the world so she might make her own weblike universe.
Anne RiceFor several long moments we remained locked together, and I think I covered her hair with small sacred kisses, her perfume crucifying me with memories.
Anne RiceThat process by which you become a writer is a pretty lonely one. We don't have a group apprenticeship like a violinist might training for an orchestra.
Anne Rice