In a real way, eternity is merely the living of one human lifetime after another.
Evil is always possible. Goodness is a difficulty.
Labor is an antidote for angst and general misery, and the fear that the Devil is going to grab you by the throat at any moment and bring you down into the fiery pit.
Lestat: I despise you! I ought to destroy you-finish what I started when I made you. Turn you into ashes and sift them through my hands. You know that I could do it! Like that! Like the snap of mortal fingers, I could do it. Burn you as I burnt your little house. And nothing could save you, nothing at all.
Don't let the old story repeat itself now. Arm yourself with all that's happened.
But Marchent, most journalists can't be trusted. You do know that, don't you?