The Dead travel fast.
BRAM STOKERBut hush! No telling to others that make so inquisitive questions. We must obey, and silence is a part of obedience, and obedience is to bring you strong and well into loving arms that wait for you.
More Bram Stoker Quotes
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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!
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No man knows till he experiences it, what it is like to feel his own life-blood drawn away into the woman he loves.
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I suppose that we women are such cowards that we think a man will save us from fears, and we marry him.
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Ah, it is the fault of our science that it wants to explain all; and if it explain not, then it says there is nothing to explain.
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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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It is a strange world, a sad world, a world full of miseries, and woes, and troubles; and yet when King Laugh come he make them all dance to the tune he play.
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There is a method in his madness, and the rudimentary idea in my mind is growing. It will be a whole idea soon, and then, oh, unconscious cerebration.
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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.
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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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Chasing an errant swarm of bees is nothing to following a naked lunatic when the fit of escaping is upon him!
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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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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!
BRAM STOKER -
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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A personal experience has intensified rather than diminished that idea.
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No man knows where the Castle of King Death is. All men and women, boys and girls, and even little wee children should so live that when they have to enter the Castle and see the grim King, they may not fear to behold his face.
BRAM STOKER