A brave man’s hand can speak for itself, it does not even need a woman’s love to hear its music.
BRAM STOKERAh, we men and women are like ropes drawn tight with strain that pull us in different directions.
More Bram Stoker Quotes
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Paris is a city of centralisation–and centralisation and classification are closely allied. In the early times, when centralisation is becoming a fact, its forerunner is classification. All things which are similar or analogous become grouped together, and from the grouping of groups rises one whole or central point.
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She was young and very beautiful, but pale, like the grey pallor of death.
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Despair has its own calms.
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Ordinary men, to whom all things are possible, don’t often, if ever, think of Heaven. It is a name, and nothing more, and they are content to wait and let things be, but to those who are doomed to be shut out for ever you cannot think what it means.
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I suppose a cry does us all good at times-clears the air as other rain does.
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Let me be accurate in everything, for though you and I have seen some strange things together, you may at the first think that I, Van Helsing, am mad. That the many horrors and the so long strain on nerves has at the last turn my brain.
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We are in Transylvania, and Transylvania is not England. Our ways are not your ways, and there shall be to you many strange things. Nay, from what you have told me of your experiences already, you know something of what strange things there may be.
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Let me tell you, my friend, that there are things done today in electrical science which would have been deemed unholy by the very man who discovered electricity, who would themselves not so long before been burned as wizards
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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.
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Yes, there is some one I love, though he has not told me yet that he even loves me.
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He means to succeed, and a man who has centuries before him can afford to wait and to go slow.
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Listen to them, the children of the night. What music they make!
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Loneliness will sit over our roofs with brooding wings.
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I have been so long master that I would be master still, or at least that none other should be master of me.
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Before I left the castle I so fixed its entrances that never more can the Count enter there Undead.
BRAM STOKER