“No man knows till he experiences it, what it is like to feel his own life-blood drawn away into the woman he loves.”

But we are pledged to set the world free. Our toil must be in silence, and our efforts all in secret. For in this enlightened age, when men believe not even what they see, the doubting of wise men would be his greatest strength.

This man belongs to me, I want him!

But this night our feet must tread in thorny paths, or later, and for ever, the feet you love must walk in paths of flame!

A brave man’s hand can speak for itself, it does not even need a woman’s love to hear its music.

She is one of God’s women fashioned by His own hand to show us men and other women that there is a heaven where we can enter, and that its light can be here on earth.

Nature in one of her beneficent moods has ordained that even death has some antidote to its own terrors.

Suddenly, I became conscious of the fact that the driver was in the act of pulling up the horses in the courtyard of a vast ruined castle, from whose tall black windows came no ray of light, and whose broken battlements showed a jagged line against the sky.

You cannot guess or measure the terrible endless longing to see the gates opened, and to be able to join the white figures within.

She was young and very beautiful, but pale, like the grey pallor of death.

Denn die Todten reiten Schnell. (For the dead travel fast.)

How good and thoughtful he is; the world seems full of good men–even if there are monsters in it.

Once again…welcome to my house. Come freely. Go safely; and leave something of the happiness you bring.

And so we remained till the red of the dawn began to fall through the snow gloom. I was desolate and afraid, and full of woe and terror. But when that beautiful sun began to climb the horizon life was to me again.

Despair has its own calms.

I saw the Count lying within the box upon the earth, some of which the rude falling from the cart had scattered over him. He was deathly pale, just like a waxen image, and the red eyes glared with the horrible vindictive look which I knew so well.

Our toil must be in silence, and our efforts all in secret; for this enlightened age, when men believe not even what they see, the doubting of wise men would be his greatest strength.

Some men are like nails, very easily drawn; others however are more like rivets never drawn at all.

Every person, all the events of your life are there because you have drawn them there. What you choose to do with them is up to you.

It never dawned on me that I had the option of becoming a comedian. I come from a little dirt street town in northwest Texas, and they really don’t talk about the arts there much on career day.

But when the dawn will come, of our emancipation, from the fear of bondage and the bondage of fear, why, that is a secret.

To use a metaphor drawn from glass, it may be revealing for us to re-focus.

I’m drawn to characters who bear similarities to the protagonists in myths and legends.

Dawn was written well before 9/11. People speak a lot today about the banality of evil, but not all evil is banal.

Blood is drawn! I am impressed-though my hell-spawned powers will heal it!