Best quotes from Memnoch the Devil

By Anne Rice

20 Quotes    3.8 


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I saw the Light,saw the myriad spirits flying loose up the Tunnel towards the celestial blaze, the Tunnel perfectly round and widening as they rose and for one blessed moment, one blessed tiny instant, the songs of Heaven resounded down the tunnel as if its curves were not made of wind but of something solid that could echo these ethereal songs, and their organized rhythm, their heartbreaking beauty piercing the catastrophic suffering of this place-Lestat

Believe in angels? Then believe in vampires. Believe in me. There are worse things on earth.

Heaven would be Hell in no time if every cruel, selfish, vicious soul went to Heaven.

Sometimes fear is a warning. It's like someone putting a hand on your shoulder and saying Go No Farther.

God, why didn't you make us all dogs?

Do you know what I think about crying? I think some people have to learn to do it. But once you learn, once you know how to really cry, there's nothing quite like it. I feel sorry for those who don't know the trick. It's like whistling or singing.

How could anyone love Him? What did you just tell me yourself about the world? Don't you see, everybody hates God now. It's not that God is dead in the twentieth century. It's that everybody hates Him! At least I think so.

Faith   God   Wisdom

The atheism and nihilism of my earlier years now seems shallow, and even a bit cocky.

You look good to me, you damnable little devil, good to embrace and good to love.

You understand the fundamental principle of an icon, don’t you? Inspired by God
Not made by hands Supposedly directly imprinted upon the background material by God Himself
All Icons fundamentally were the work of God. A revelation in material form. And sometimes new icon could be made from another simply by pressing a new cloth to the original and a magic transfer would occur.

‎There's no way to cheat a sensualist like me, somebody who can die laughing for hours over the pattern of the carpet in a hotel lobby.

-You are on the verge of being truly mad.
-No, not at all. Look at me. I can tie my shoelaces. See?

Our language needs endless synonyms for beautiful; the eyes could see what the tongue cannot possibly describe.

We have souls, you and I. We want to know things; we share the same earth, rich and verdant and fraught with perils. We don't either of us know what it means to die, no matter what we might say to the contrary.

If you read this, read it for that reason that Lestat is talking again, that he is frightened, that he is searching desperately for the lesson and for the song and for the raison d'etre, that he wants to understand his own story and he wants you to understand it, and that it is the very best story he has right now to tell. If that's not enough, read something else.
If it is, read on. In chains, to my friend and my scribe, I dictated these words.
Come with me. Just listen to me. Don't leave me alone.

Maybe this is madness. Maybe that's what Hell is. You go mad. And all your demons come and get you just as fast as you can think them up.

I tucked my arm under my head and started crying like a child. I was perishing from exhaustion. I was worn and miserable and I loved crying. I couldn’t do anything else. I gave in to it fully. I felt that profound release of the utterly grief-stricken. I didn’t give a damn who saw or heard. I cried and cried.

I was too miserable to take much consolation just from feeling good for a moment in a welter of shudders and salted, bloodstained tears.

He bent close to me, and suddenly kissed me, in a manner that seemed entirely childlike and also a bit European.

Oh, but when love is reached through suffering, it has a power it can never gain through innocence.


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