Hell's Bells ringing, my secret music...
Anne RiceHow pathetic it is to describe these things which can't truly be described.
Anne RiceTags: words
I was at a loss suddenly; but conscious all the while of how Armand listened; that he listened in the way that we dream of others listening, his face seeming to reflect on every thing said. He did not start forward to seize on my slightest pause, to assert an understanding of something before the thought was finished, or to argue with a swift, irresistible impulse -- the things which often make dialogue impossible.
And after a long interval he said, 'I want you. I want you more than anything in the world.
Tags: personality
As for oblivion, well, we can wait a little while for that.
Anne RiceTags: mortality
Very few beings really seek knowledge in this world. Mortal or immortal, few really ask. On the contrary, they try to wring from the unknown the answers they have already shaped in their own minds -- justifications, confirmations, forms of consolation without which they can't go on. To really ask is to open the door to the whirlwind. The answer may annihilate the question and the questioner.
Anne RiceTags: knowledge questions courage risk daring uncertainty seeking asking
Whatever will happen will happen, but choose your companions with care. Choose them because you like to look at them and you like the sound of their voices, and they have profound secrets in them that you wish to know. In other words, choose them because you love them. Otherwise you will not be able to bear their company for very long.
Anne RiceDon't be a pawn in somebody's game. Find the attitude which gives you the maximum strength and the maximum dignity, no matter what else is going on
Anne RiceBecause I show you my pain, I do not of necessity love you.
Anne RiceIn spite of all the refinements of civilization that conspired to make art--the dizzying perfection of the string quartet or the sprawling grandeur of Fragonard's canvases--beauty was savage. It was as dangerous and lawless as the earth had been eons before man had one single coherent thought in his head or wrote codes of conduct on tablets of clay. Beauty was a Savage Garden.
Anne RiceI live lies because I cannot endure the weakness of anger, and I cannot admit the irrationality of love.
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