Obviously, a writer can't know everything about what she writes. It's impossible.

Handsome enough' is this Grim Reaper, Who can snuff all these 'brief candles,' every fluttering soul sucking the air, from this hall" -The Vampire Lestat

It was as if the empty nights were made for thinking of him. And sometimes I found myself so vividly aware of him it was as if he had only just left the room and the ring of his voice were still there. And somehow, there was a disturbing comfort in that, and, despite myself, I’d envision his face.

A perfectly evil Devil makes even less sense than a perfect God.

Being liberated means reading what you want to read, and fantasizing about what you want to fantasize about.

Come on, say it again. I'm a perfect devil. Tell me how bad I am. It makes me feel so good!

Dear God, help me. Do not forget me on this tiny cinder lost in a galaxy that is lost–a heart no bigger than a speck of dust beating, beating against death, against meaninglessness, against guilt, against sorrow.