Love Quote by Anne Rice

Words are Anne Rice's original vice, and she frames that vice as something bodily: to sing them, speak them, fall into them. The line reads like a confession, but it is also a declaration of craft. Rice doesn't treat language as a tool for transmitting information; she treats it as a sensory medium, closer to breath and music than to grammar. That emphasis matters because it signals her real subject, across vampires and saints and New Orleans decadence: desire with a pulse.

The syntax performs what it describes. The repetition of "loved" and "love" makes obsession feel ongoing, not nostalgic. The small escalation from voice (sing, speak) to the written page ("even now... writing") carries a sly subtext: writing is the later, perhaps more solitary evolution of the same hunger. "I must admit" suggests a guilty pleasure, as if committing to the page is an indulgence she can't quite justify - which tracks with Rice's career-long tension between high gothic seriousness and the cultural side-eye aimed at genre fiction. She is, in effect, owning the thing she was sometimes punished for enjoying.

Context sharpens the intent. Rice emerged in a period when "literary" prestige and mass-market storytelling were policed as separate neighborhoods. Her response was to make prose itself voluptuous, to insist that the sentence can be a stage: operatic, intimate, devout, profane. This is the artist's manifesto in miniature: the joy isn't just in stories, it's in the mouthfeel of language - and she refuses to apologize for that pleasure.