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.
BRAM STOKERRemember my friend, that knowledge is stronger than memory, and we should not trust the weaker
More Bram Stoker Quotes
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I have been so long master that I would be master still, or at least that none other should be master of me.
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It is a strange world, a sad world, a world full of miseries, and woes, and troubles; and yet when King Laugh come he make them all dance to the tune he play.
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Listen to them, the children of the night. What music they make!
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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 suppose that we women are such cowards that we think a man will save us from fears, and we marry him.
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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 do not, as you know, take sufficient interest in dress to be able to describe the new fashions. Dress is a bore.
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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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We learn of great things by little experiences.
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Our toil must be in silence, and our efforts all in secret; for 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 Dead travel fast.
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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.
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It would be at once his sheath and his armor, and his weapons to destroy us, his enemies, who are willing to peril even our own souls for the safety of one we love. For the good of mankind, and for the honor and glory of God.
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As yet we know nothing of what goes to create or evoke the active spark of life.
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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,
BRAM STOKER






