None of us really changes over time. We only become more fully what we are.

Kindly go to Hell!(Lestat to Oncle Julien's ghost)

Also there was something vampiric about rock music. It must have sounded supernatural even to those who don’t believe in the supernatural. I mean the way the electricity could stretch a single note forever; the way harmony could be layered upon harmony until you felt yourself dissolving in the sound. So eloquent of dread it was, this music…

I wanted to kiss her, she was beautiful again to me. But I dared not risk it. It wasn't only that I would have frightened her, it was that the desire to kill her was almost overpowering. Some fierce purely male instinct in me wanted to claim her now simply because I had claimed her in another way before.

You're the mad one,' I said. 'If you could see yourself, hear your own voice, your music - which of course you play for yourself - you wouldn't see darkness, Nicki. You'd see an illumination that is all your own. Sombre, yes, but light and beauty come together in you in a thousand different patterns.

You sense my loneliness, (...) my bitterness at being shut out of life. My bitterness that I'm evil, that I don't deserve to be loved and yet I need love hungrily. My horror that I can never reveal myself to mortals. But these things don't stop me, Mother. I'm too strong for them to stop me. As you said yourself once, I am very good at being what I am. These things merely now and then make me suffer, that's all

─Sueño los sueños de los jóvenes ─confesó─, o sea que siempre sueño con ser mayor, más rico, más sensato, más fuerte. Solté una risita.

But what endures is what has always mattered: love - that we love one another as surely as we are alive. And if there is any hope for us to ever really be good - that hope will be realized through love.

Traitor,” said Amel. “Slut.” I tried to conceal my smile. I just love being called a slut. I don't know why. I just do.

All the old poetry makes sense when you look at one whom you have loved.