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 STOKERGood women tell all their lives, and by day and by hour and by minute, such things that angels can read.
More Bram Stoker Quotes
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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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We are able to learn from a failure, but perhaps not much from a success!
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Denn die Todten reiten Schnell. (For the dead travel fast.)
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I am Dracula, and I bid you welcome . . .
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My revenge is just begun! I spread it over centuries, and time is on my side.
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We learn from failure, not from success!
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Sleep has no place it can call its own.
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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.
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We are all drifting reefwards now, and faith is our only anchor.
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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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All men are mad in some way or the other, and inasmuch as you deal discreetly with your madmen, so deal with God’s madmen too, the rest of the world.
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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.
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Once again…welcome to my house. Come freely. Go safely; and leave something of the happiness you bring.
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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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He means to succeed, and a man who has centuries before him can afford to wait and to go slow.
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I could not resist the temptation of mystifying him a bit, I suppose it is some taste of the original apple that remains still in our mouths.
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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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Above 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,
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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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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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Yes, there is some one I love, though he has not told me yet that he even loves me.
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I have a sort of empty feeling; nothing in the world seems of sufficient importance to be worth the doing.
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Safety and the assurance of safety are things of the past.
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There are mysteries which men can only guess at, which age by age they may solve only in part.
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For me, I say no, but then I am old, and life, with his sunshine, his fair places, his song of birds, his music and his love, lie far behind. You others are young. Some have seen sorrow, but there are fair days yet in store. What say you?
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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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