"You're a perfect devil, Lestat!" he was saying. "That's what you are! You are the devil himself!"

Old truths and ancient magic, revolution and invention, all conspire to distract us from the passion that in one way or another defeats us all.

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.

The atheism and nihilism of my earlier years now seems shallow, and even a bit cocky.

I don't believe in hell. The idea that a supreme being would make hell is ridiculous. An eternity of pain that results in no learning, reformation or rebirth is a nauseating idea. It's one of the reasons I left Christianity. I simply could not accept that version of God.

Sometimes dreams show me that my writing should go deeper. Dreams have not so much changed my work as deepened it.

I had many wonderful experiences, received beautiful letters, and my Christian books received substantive and thoughtful reviews. But there was always argument, dispute, questions as to what I "really" believed, lectures from here and there on "the real truth," etc.