I Grabbed Her Ankle And Kissed It,

Yet I Saw Crypts When I Looked At Him, And I Heard The Beat Of Kettledrums. I Saw Torchlit Fields Where I Had Never Been, Heard Vague Incantations, Felt The Heat Of Raging Fires On My Face. And They Didn't Come Out Of Him, These Visions. Rather I Drew Them Out On My Own. Yet I Never Had Nicolas, Mortal Or Immortal, Been So Alluring. Never Had Gabrielle Held Me So In Thrall. Dear God, This Is Love. This Is Desire. And All My Past Amours Have Been But The Shadow Of This." — Lestat De Lioncourt

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.

When You Make His Sandwiches, Put A Sexy Or Loving Note In His Lunch Box.

Hell's Bells Ringing, My Secret Music.

This Suffering, This Unspeakable Capacity To Bleed And To Know Pain And To Know Annihilation, Is What Has To Be Overcome In This World If Anyone Is To Reach God.