I turned and it seemed the room was pulsing violently around me, all its color coalescing as though Monet’s spirit had infected the very fabric of all solid matter and the air. All the objects of the room seemed arbitrary and symbolic. And beyond lay the savage night-Lestat’s Savage Garden-and random unanswerable stars. As for Louis, he was captivated as only he can become, yielding as men almost never yield, no matter in what shape or form the male spirit may be clothed.
-Anne Rice
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