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BRAM STOKERA house cannot be made habitable in a day; and, after all, how few days go to make up a century.
More Bram Stoker Quotes
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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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Then they will see that, perhaps, they too have some of the same fault in themselves – although perhaps it does not come out in the same way – and then they must try to conquer that fault.
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It 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.
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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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Sleep has no place it can call its own.
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We learn from failure, not from success!
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My revenge is just begun! I spread it over centuries, and time is on my side.
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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.
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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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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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The inscrutable laws of sex have so arranged that even a timid woman is not afraid of a fierce and haughty man.
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Loneliness will sit over our roofs with brooding wings.
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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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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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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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Ah, we men and women are like ropes drawn tight with strain that pull us in different directions.
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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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The only beautiful thing in the world whose beauty lasts for ever is a pure, fair soul.
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We are in Transylvania, and Transylvania is not England. Our ways are not your ways, and there shall be to you many strange things. Nay, from what you have told me of your experiences already, you know something of what strange things there may be.
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I have cried even when the laugh did choke me. But no more think that I am all sorry when I cry, for the laugh he come just the same.
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I will not let you go into the unknown alone.
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No man knows till he experiences it, what it is like to feel his own life-blood drawn away into the woman he loves.
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She is one of God’s women fashioned by His own hand to show us men and other women that there is a heaven where we can enter, and that its light can be here on earth.
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A house cannot be made habitable in a day; and, after all, how few days go to make up a century.
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Sleep has no place it can call its own.
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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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