I suppose that we women are such cowards that we think a man will save us from fears, and we marry him.
BRAM STOKERFor 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.
More Bram Stoker Quotes
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And then away for home! Away to the quickest and nearest train! Away from this cursed land, where the devil and his children stil walk with earthly feet!
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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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Truly there is no such thing as finality.
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Because if a woman’s heart was free a man might have hope.
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Despair has its own calms.
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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 a stranger in a strange land, he is no one. Men know him not, and to know not is to care not for.
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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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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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This man belongs to me, I want him!
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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.
BRAM STOKER -
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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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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Listen to them, the children of the night. What music they make!
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Yes, there is some one I love, though he has not told me yet that he even loves me.
BRAM STOKER