Despair has its own calms.
BRAM STOKERIt is ever thus that the things which we do wrong – although they may seem little at the time, and though from the hardness of our hearts we pass them lightly by – come back to us with bitterness.
More Bram Stoker Quotes
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Good women tell all their lives, and by day and by hour and by minute, such things that angels can read.
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I’m a hard nut to crack, and I take it standing up.
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But we are pledged to set the world free. Our toil must be in silence, and our efforts all in secret. For in this enlightened age, when men believe not even what they see, the doubting of wise men would be his greatest strength.
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Sleep has no place it can call its own.
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For now, feeling as though my own brain were unhinged or as if the shock had come which must end in its undoing, I turn to my diary for repose. The habit of entering accurately must help sooth me.
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Paris is a city of centralisation–and centralisation and classification are closely allied. In the early times, when centralisation is becoming a fact, its forerunner is classification. All things which are similar or analogous become grouped together, and from the grouping of groups rises one whole or central point.
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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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Listen to them, the children of the night. What music they make!
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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.
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We learn from failure, not from success!
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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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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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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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Good women tell all their lives, and by day and by hour and by minute, such things that angels can read.
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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






