And Books, They Offer One Hope --

Lestat: Toughen Up Baby. I'm Looking For The Eternal Scum.

The World Changes, We Do Not, Therein Lies The Irony That Kills Us.

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.

He Was So Excited By This Little Bit Of Intelligence That He Might Have Gone Off, Perplexed, Pondering For A Long Time. It Was Like Reading A Wonderful Sentence In A Book, And Not Being Able To Continue Because So Many Possibilities Were Crowding His Mind.

And Then It Was, That Grief And Pain Made Themselves Known To Me As Never Before. Note This, Because I Knew The Full Absurdity Of Fate And Fortune And Nature More Truly Than A Human Can Bear To Know It. And Perhaps The Description Of This, Brief As It Is, May Give Consolation To Another. The Worst Takes Its Time To Come, And Then To Pass. The Truth Is, You Cannot Prepare Anyone For This, Nor Convey An Understanding Of It Through Language. It Must Be Known. And This I Would Wish On No One In The World.