Quotes from William Peter Blatty

drunk right now, Amfortas suspected, or high on amphetamine,

We have familiar experience of the order, the constancy, the perpetual renovation of the material world which surrounds us. Frail and transitory as is every part of it, restless and migratory as are its elements, still it abides. It is bound together by a law of permanence, and though it is ever dying, it is ever coming to life again. Dissolution does but give birth to fresh modes of organization, and one death is the parent of a thousand lives.

Yeah, hello and good-bye," Karras growled. "Who are you and what the fuck are you doing in my room?

Gliding spiderlike, rapidly, close behind Sharon, her body arched backward in a bow with her head almost touching her feet, was Regan, her tongue flicking quickly in and out of her mouth while she hissed sibilantly like a serpent. Sharon stopped then screamed as she felt Regan's tongue snaking out at her ankle. That day, everywhere Sharon went, Regan followed.

We mourn the blossoms of May because they are to wither; but we know that May is one day to have its revenge upon November, by the revolution of that solemn circle which never stops—which teaches us in our height of hope, ever to be sober, and in our depth of desolation, never to despair.

If instead of just clay I could take all the prettiest things Like a rainbow, Or clouds or the way a bird sings, Maybe then, dearest Mommy, If I put them all together, I could really make a sculpture of you.

folded across his chest, Klein was sitting on the edge of his desk. "Well, the EEG would have proved that she had it," he said, "but the lack of dysrhythmia doesn't prove to me conclusively that she doesn't. It might be hysteria, but the pattern before and after her convulsion was much too striking." Chris furrowed her brow. "You know, you keep on saying that, Doc—'convulsion.

Well, neither does anyone else. We use concepts like 'consciousness'—'mind'—'personality,' but we don't really know yet what they are. So when I start talking about something like multiple or split personality, all we have are some

Well, the Devil's something else. I could buy that; in fact, maybe I do. You know why? Because the creep keeps doing commercials.

for days or even weeks. It isn't rare to find destructive, even criminal behavior. There's such a big change, in fact, that two or three hundred years ago people with temporal lobe disorders were often considered to be possessed by a

I just lost 'Hope,' that's all.

God was alien and cruel,

I'm not saying I'm against evolution. It's okay. Here's the story on reptiles, however. Think this over. They come up on

Yes, I think so. A sign of the zodiac. I think Gemini.

She watched as a beer truck lumbered by with a clink of quivering warm, wet promises.

Have you ever heard of exorcism, Mrs. MacNeil?

Bill, the point is that right in the middle of this horror there's a creature called man who can see that it's horrible. So where do we come up with these notions like 'evil' and 'cruel' and 'unjust'? You can't say a line looks a little bit crooked unless you've got a notion of a line that's straight.

Something unspeakable left the room.

These the seeds of vocation. From these he had fled into love, but now the love had grown cold, and in the night he heard it whistling through the chambers of his heart like a lost and gently crying wind.

An anguished moan escaped from Karras as he bowed his head above the Host. He struck his breast as if it were time and murmured, "Domine, no sum dignus.... I am not worthy... say but the word and my soul shall be healed.

He started his engine and turned on the windshield wipers in time to see a tall old man stepping out of the cab. He paid the driver, then turned and stood motionless under a misty streetlamp's glow, staring up at a window of the house like a melancholy traveler frozen in time. As

He could not bear to search for Christ again in stench and hollow eyes; for the Christ of pus and bleeding excrement, the Christ who could not be. In

The psychiatrist grew weary; found himself drifting into private sorrow. He glanced at a plaque that someone had given him the previous Christmas. MY BROTHER HURTS. I SHARE HIS PAIN. I MEET GOD IN HIM, he read. A failed encounter. He blamed himself. He had mapped the streets of his brother's torment, yet never had walked them; or so he believed. He thought that the pain which he felt was his own.

Karl made a dash across the room, got ahead of Karras and pulled the front door open for him. They exchanged brief glances, and then Karras stepped out into the rainy night.