Memory was a curse, yes, he thought, but it was also the greatest gift. Because if you lost memory you lost everything.

Drink." she whispered, drawing nearer. "Drink." she held the soft, tender flesh of the wrist towards me. "No. I know what to do; haven't I done it in the past?" I said to her.

To be human, that's what most of us long for. It is the human which has become myth to us.

Maybe we do go home, finally.

“Armand to Louis: “You realize this woman writes that her vampires sparkle in the sun!” Louis in reply. “Well, that’s better than burning up in the sun, isn’t it?”

You do have a story inside you; it lies articulate and waiting to be written — behind your silence and your suffering.