Lestat: It's your coffin, my love. Enjoy it. Most of us never get to know what it feels like.
Louis: Why do you do this?
Lestat: I like to do it. I enjoy it. Take your aesthete's taste to purer things, kill them swiftly, if you will, but do it. For do not doubt: you are a killer, Louis.
Louis: Thirty years had passed, but her body remained that of an eternal child. Her eyes alone told the story of her age, staring out from under her doll-like curls, with a questioning that will one day need an answer.
Lestat: Lord, what I wouldn't give for a drop of good old-fashioned Creole blood.
Louis: Yankees are not to your taste?
Lestat: Their democratic flavor doesn't suit my palate, Louis.
Louis: Lestat killed two, sometimes three a night. A fresh young girl, that was his favorite for the first of the evening. For seconds, he preferred a gilded beautiful youth. But the snob in him loved to hunt in society, and the blood of the aristocrat thrilled him best of all.
Lestat: Come to New Orleans, then. The Paris Opera's in town. We can try some French cuisine.
Louis: Forgive me if I have a lingering respect for mortal life.
Louis: That morning I was not yet a vampire, and I saw my last sunrise. I remember it completely, and yet I can't recall any sunrise before it. I watched the whole magnificence of the dawn for the last time as if it were the first. And then I said farewell to sunlight, and set out to become what I became.
Daniel Molloy: So a vampire can cry.
Louis: Once, maybe twice in his own eternity. Maybe it was to quench those tears forever that I took such revenge on them.