“It is wonderful what tricks our dreams play us, and how conveniently we can imagine.”

Doctor, you don’t know what it is to doubt everything, even yourself. No, you don’t; you couldn’t with eyebrows like yours.

I’m a hard nut to crack, and I take it standing up.

I suppose a cry does us all good at times-clears the air as other rain does.

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.

No man knows till he experiences it, what it is like to feel his own life-blood drawn away into the woman he loves.

If I am a great man, then all great men are frauds.

The blood is life… and it shall be mine!

For life be, after all, only a waitin’ for somethin’ else than what we’re doin’; and death be all that we can rightly depend on.

The Dead travel fast.

I am Dracula, and I bid you welcome . . .

How good and thoughtful he is; the world seems full of good men–even if there are monsters in it.

My revenge is just begun! I spread it over centuries, and time is on my side.

Because if a woman’s heart was free a man might have hope.

The fame of an actor is won in minutes and seconds, not in years.

Whether it is the old lady’s fear, or the many ghostly traditions of this place, or the crucifix itself, I do not know, but I am not feeling nearly as easy in my mind as usual.

Souls and memories can do strange things during trance.

I have a very conveniently photographic memory of emotions – it’s overwhelming, because things don’t fade for me.