“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.”

No man knows till he has suffered from the night how sweet and dear to his heart and eye the morning can be.

There are mysteries which men can only guess at, which age by age they may solve only in part.

It is something like the way dame Nature gathers round a foreign body an envelope of some insensitive tissue which can protect from evil that which it would otherwise harm by contact.

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

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.

A personal experience has intensified rather than diminished that idea.

Enter freely and of your own free will!

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.

I have a sort of empty feeling; nothing in the world seems of sufficient importance to be worth the doing.

Oh, my dear, if you only knew how strange is the matter regarding which I am here, it is you who would laugh.

Good women tell all their lives, and by day and by hour and by minute, such things that angels can read.

The blood is the life!

And yet, unless my senses deceive me, the old centuries had, and have, powers of their own which mere ‘modernity’ cannot kill.

Remember my friend, that knowledge is stronger than memory, and we should not trust the weaker

I sometimes think we must be all mad and that we shall wake to sanity in strait-waistcoats.

A house cannot be made habitable in a day; and, after all, how few days go to make up a century.

You can’t worship the image or the Crucifix itself. You have to worship God.