I wanted to kiss her, she was beautiful again to me. But I dared not risk it. It wasn’t only that I would have frightened her, it was that the desire to kill her was almost overpowering. Some fierce purely male instinct in me wanted to claim her now simply because I had claimed her in another way before.
I never laugh at death, no matter how often and regularly I am the cause of it.
This evil, this concept, it comes from disappointment, from bitterness! Don’t you see? Children of Satan! Children of God! Is this the only question you bring to me, is this the only power that obsesses you, so that you must make us gods and devils yourself when the only power that exists is inside ourselves? How could you believe in these old fantastical lies, these myths, these emblems of the supernatural?
Pain. Unspeakable pain. It didn’t matter who in this world or any other was staring at me, watching me, seeking to share this moment or merely shuddering as I experienced it. Just didn’t matter. Because in pain like this one is always alone.
For what can the damned really have to say to the damned?
You have a light in you that’s almost blinding. But in me there’s only darkness. Sometimes I think it’s like the darkness that infected you that night in the inn when you began to cry and to tremble. You were so helpless, so unprepared for it. I try to keep the darkness from you because I need your light. I need it desperately, but you don’t need the darkness.
There is a horrifying loneliness at work in this time. No, listen to me. We lived six and seven to a room in those days, when I was still among the living. The city streets were seas of humanity; and now in these high buildings dim-witted souls hover in luxurious privacy, gazing through the television window at a faraway world of kissing and touching. It is bound to produce some great fund of common knowledge, some new level of human awareness, a curious skepticism, to be so alone.
Muy pocos seres buscan de verdad el conocimiento en este mundo. Mortales o inmortales, son escasos los que hacen preguntas. Al contrario, casi todos intentan extraer de lo desconocido las respuestas a las que ya han dado forma en sus propias mentes; justificaciones, confirmaciones, formas de consuelo sin las cuales serian incapaces de continuar adelante. Preguntar de verdad es abrir la puerta a un torbellino. La respues puede aniquilar a la vez la pregunta y quien la hace.
In the Savage Garden you shine beautifully, my friend. You walk as if it is your garden to do with as you please. And in my wanderings, I always return to you. I always return to see the colours of the garden in your shadow, or reflected in your eyes, perhaps, or to hear of your latest follies and mad obsessions.
Lestat, you are the damnedest creature!′ he whispered under his breath. ‘You are a brat prince.
Don’t make a religion of reason and logic. Because in the passage of time reason may fail you and when it does, you may find yourself taking refuge in madness.
And it isn’t only that I don’t believe it. I can’t. “I can’t believe it because my reason tells me that such a system, in which anyone dictates our every move – be it a god, or a devil, or our subconscious mind, or our tyrannical genesis simply impossible. “Life itself must be founded upon the infinite possibility for choice and accident. And if we cannot prove that it is, we must believe that it is. We must believe that we can change, that we can control, that we can direct our own destinies.
I’ve lived all these years among those who create nothing and change nothing,′ I said. ‘Actors and musicians-they’re saints to me.
Because people don’t believe it unless it happens to them.
I feel the darkness near me; I feel the light shining. And more keenly I feel the contrast between the two.
But let me be a lover in the Savage Garden with you, and the light that went out of life would come back in a great burst of glory. Out of mortal flesh I would pass into eternity. I would be one of you.” – Daniel.
You have to pass away from what failed you into what can sustain you. Otherwise – there is no hope.
Dig deep, deep, my soul, to find the heart – the blood, the heat, the shrine and resting place. Dig deep, deep into the moist soil all the way to where they lie, those I love – she, Mother, with her dark hair loose and gone, her bones long since tumbled in the back of the vault, as other coffins came to rest in her spot, but in this dream I range them round me to hold as if she were there...
Yes, something about the fabric of life ripping for a moment so you glimpsed things you shouldn’t have seen.
What a miracle, I thought. One tiny flame could make so many other flames; one tiny flame could set afire a whole world. Why, I had, with this simple gesture, actually increased the sum total of light in the universe, had I not?