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.
BRAM STOKERBut a stranger in a strange land, he is no one. Men know him not, and to know not is to care not for.
More Bram Stoker Quotes
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As yet we know nothing of what goes to create or evoke the active spark of life.
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He may not enter anywhere at the first, unless there be some one of the household who bid him to come, though afterwards he can come as he please.
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A wild howling began, which seemed to come from all over the country, as far as the imagination could grasp it through the gloom of the night.
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We see radiating many long arms with innumerable tentaculae, and in the centre rises a gigantic head with a comprehensive brain and keen eyes to look on every side and ears sensitive to hear–and a voracious mouth to swallow.
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I am longing to be with you, and by the sea, where we can talk together freely and build our castles in the air.
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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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It is really wonderful how much resilience there is in human nature. Let any obstructing cause, no matter what, be removed in any way, even by death, and we fly back to first principles of hope and enjoyment.
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Within, stood a tall old man, clean shaven save for a long white moustache, and clad in black from head to foot, without a single speck of colour about him anywhere.
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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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I have cried even when the laugh did choke me. But no more think that I am all sorry when I cry, for the laugh he come just the same.
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The blood is the life!
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Nature in one of her beneficent moods has ordained that even death has some antidote to its own terrors.
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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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The blood is life… and it shall be mine!
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Oh, the terrible struggle that I have had against sleep so often of late; the pain of the sleeplessness, or the pain of the fear of sleep, and with such unknown horror as it has for me!
BRAM STOKER