Evil Is Always Possible. Goodness Is A

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.

You Never Know The Palette Of The One You Kill Until The Mind Disgorges Its Finest Colours.

Yes. To Write A Novel Is To Risk My Sanity. The Deeper I Get Into The Suffering And Conflict Of The Characters, Into The Very Situations And Thoughts And Feelings That Make The Novel Worthwhile, The Worse I Feel, And The More Likely I Am To Be Severely Depressed When The Book Is Finished. There Is No Avoiding This: It Is The Result Of Attempting To Tell All You Know, To Reach For The Stars, To Write What Matters.

I Allowed Myself To Forget How Totally I Had Fallen In Love With Lestat's Iridescent Eyes, That I'd Sold My Soul For A Many-colored And Luminescent Thing, Thinking That A Highly Reflective Surface Conveyed The Power To Walk On Water.

Evil Is Always Possible. Goodness Is A Difficulty.