Once I Returned To The Church And

The Most Difficult Novel I Have Had To Write In Terms Of Just Getting It Done Was The Vampire Lestat. It Took A Year To Write.

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.

What Is Fear After All? It Is Indecision. You Seek Some Way To Resist, Escape. There Is None.

I Left Christianity Because I Wanted To Be A Moral Person. That Is Why I Left. I No Longer Believed In Its Lies.

As They Die, The Ones We Love, We Lose Our Witnesses, Our Watchers, Those Who Know And Understand The Tiny Little Meaningless Patterns, Those Words Drawn In Water With A Stick. And There Is Nothing Left But The Endless Flow.