I do not, as you know, take sufficient interest in dress to be able to describe the new fashions. Dress is a bore.
BRAM STOKERAbove the care of Nature and of State, Suspended in the noon of Night we wait, All slumber nursing, to make sweet and pure, While secret Nature, weaving works the cure. We are the handmaids of the hollow night,
More Bram Stoker Quotes
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Souls and memories can do strange things during trance.
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Then they will see that, perhaps, they too have some of the same fault in themselves – although perhaps it does not come out in the same way – and then they must try to conquer that fault.
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And yet, unless my senses deceive me, the old centuries had, and have, powers of their own which mere ‘modernity’ cannot kill.
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There are such beings as vampires, some of us have evidence that they exist. Even had we not the proof of our own unhappy experience, the teachings and the records of the past give proof enough for sane peoples.
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How blessed are some people, whose lives have no fears, no dreads; to whom sleep is a blessing that comes nightly, and brings nothing but sweet dreams.
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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.
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Good women tell all their lives, and by day and by hour and by minute, such things that angels can read.
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This man belongs to me, I want him!
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Bleeding hearts, and dry bones of the churchyard, and tears that burn as they fall — all dance together to the music that he make with that smileless mouth of him.
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Though sympathy alone can’t alter facts, it can help to make them more bearable.
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For now, feeling as though my own brain were unhinged or as if the shock had come which must end in its undoing, I turn to my diary for repose. The habit of entering accurately must help sooth me.
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Because if a woman’s heart was free a man might have hope.
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No man knows till he has suffered from the night how sweet and dear to his heart and eye the morning can be.
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I’m a hard nut to crack, and I take it standing up.
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Love is, after all, a selfish thing; and it throws a black shadow on anything between which and the light it stands.
BRAM STOKER






