"You and the theatres of Paris", he said to me. "No matter what we´re talking about you bring back to the theatres and the actors-´
His brown eyes were very big and trusting. And even drunk as he was, he looked spruced in his red velvet Paris frock coat.
"Actors and actresses make magic", I said. "They make things happen on the stage; they invent; they creat".
"Wait until you see the sweat streaming down their painted faces in the glare of the footlights", he answered.
"Ah there you go again", I said. "And you, the one who gave up everuthing to play the violin"... (...) "You make life when you play", I said. "You create something from nothing. You make something good happen. And this is blessed to me".
"I make music and it makes me happy", he said. "What is blessed or good about that?"
I waved it way as i always did his cynicism now.
"I´ve lived all these years among those who create nothing and changed nothing," i said. "Actors and musicians - they´re saints to me".
"Saints?" He asked. "Blessedeness? Goodness? Lestat, tour language baffles me".
I simled and shook my head.
"You don´t understand. I´m speaking of the character of human beings, not what they believe in. I´m speaking of those who won´t accept a useless life, just because they were born to it. I mean those who would be something better. They work, they sacrifice, they do things"...
The vampire Lestat By Annie Rice