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.
BRAM STOKERI have a sort of empty feeling; nothing in the world seems of sufficient importance to be worth the doing.
More Bram Stoker Quotes
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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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Nature in one of her beneficent moods has ordained that even death has some antidote to its own terrors.
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Take me away from all this Death.
BRAM STOKER -
Keep it always with you that laughter who knock at your door and say, ‘May I come in?’ is not true laughter. No! He is a king, and he come when and how he like. He ask no person, he choose no time of suitability. He say, ‘I am here.
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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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Once again…welcome to my house. Come freely. Go safely; and leave something of the happiness you bring.
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I have always thought that a wild animal never looks so well as when some obstacle of pronounced durability is between us.
BRAM STOKER -
I want to cut off her head and take out her heart.
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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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We learn from failure, not from success!
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There was one great tomb more lordly than all the rest; huge it was, and nobly proportioned. On it was but one word, DRACULA.
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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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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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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!
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This man belongs to me, I want him!
BRAM STOKER