I am the Vampire Lestat. I'm immortal more or less. The light of the sun, the sustained heat of an intense fire-these things might destroy me. But then again, they might not.

And this lesson about mortal peace of mind I never forgot. Even if a ghost is ripping a house to pieces, throwing in pans all over, pouring water of pillows, making clocks chime at all hours, mortal will accept almost any "natural explanation" offered, no matter how absurd, rather than the obvious supernatural one, for what is going on.

I stumble through a carnival of horrors

I’d thought I knew what beauty was in women; but she’d surpassed all the language I had for it.

And books, they offer one hope -- that a whole universe might open up from between the covers, and falling into that universe, one is saved.

Oh, my darling, wish you were here! And my dark soul is happy again, because it does not know how to be anything else for very long, and because the pain is a deep dark sea in which I would drown if I did not sail my little craft steadily over the surface, steadily towards a sun which will never rise.

Garden of Pain, I need you. What were the songs of beasts to the cries of sentient souls?