The Tale of the Body Thief (The Vampire Chronicles, #4)

by Anne Rice

I don’t believe that rescuing one poor mortal from such a fiend can conceivably save my soul. I have taken life too often—unless one believes that the power of one good deed is infinite. I don’t know whether or not I believe that. What I do believe is this: The evil of one murder is infinite, and my guilt is like my beauty—eternal. I cannot be forgiven, for there is no one to forgive me for all I’ve done.

Sometimes I become spellbound in the middle of Wal-Mart.

My conscience is killing me, isn’t it? And when you’re immortal that can be a really long and ignominious death.

Now if I were mortal, I would write a novel about Rembrandt, on this theme. But I am not mortal. I cannot save my soul through art or Good Works.

“The entire flaw in the Bible is the notion that God is perfect. It represents a failure of imagination on the part of the early scholars. It’s responsible for every impossible theological question as to good and evil with which we’ve been wrestling through the centuries. God is good, however, wondrously good. Yes, God is love. But no creative force is perfect. That’s clear.”

But what good would one act of mercy be in the face of all I’ve done? I’m damned if there is a God or a Devil.

“I do think God exists. I don’t like to say so. But I do. And probably some form of Devil exists as well. I admit—it’s a matter of the missing pieces, as we’ve said. And you might well have seen the Supreme Being and his Adversary in that Paris café. But it’s part of their maddening game that we can never figure it out for certain. You want a likely explanation for their behavior? Why they let you have a little glimpse? They wanted to get you embroiled in some sort of religious response! They play with us that way. They throw out visions and miracles and bits and pieces of divine revelation. And we go off full of zeal and found a church. It’s all part of their game, part of their ongoing and endless talk. And you know? I think your view of them—an imperfect God and a learning Devil—is just about as good as anyone else’s interpretation. I think you’ve hit on it.”

Maybe all they want is to be human again. Maybe that’s all any of us want. Another chance.”

I went after him, failing to lock the door behind me, which was unforgivable, I suppose, for the peace of churches should never be disturbed,

“I don’t hate it. And I don’t hate myself. Don’t you see? That’s the contradiction. I’ve never hated myself.” “You told me you were evil, you said when I helped you I was helping the devil. You wouldn’t say those things if you didn’t hate it.” I didn’t answer. Then I said, “My greatest sin has always been that I have a wonderful time being myself. My guilt is always there; my moral abhorrence for myself is always there; but I have a good time. I’m strong; I’m a creature of great will and passion. You see, that’s the core of the dilemma for me—how can I enjoy being a vampire so much, how can I enjoy it if it’s evil?

If I believed in God, if I believed in salvation, then I suppose I would have to be a saint.”

To be saved. What a thought, what a lovely, extravagant, and impossible thought