Oh, the lies that I have told myself and others. I knew it yet I didn't know.

It was over now, and the meaningless world was tolerable and need not be explained. And never would it be, and how foolish I had ever been to think so.

Oh Lestat, you deserved everything that's ever happened to you. You better not die. You might actually go to hell.

My life's been too much of a self-created vocation. And there are times when I think I've done everything in the name of defiance.

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.

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.

Do we have to confess our loves to everyone?" asked Thorne softly. "Can we not keep some secrets?