Even if she be not harmed, her heart may fail her in so much and so many horrors; and hereafter she may suffer–both in waking, from her nerves, and in sleep, from her dreams.
BRAM STOKERThe only beautiful thing in the world whose beauty lasts for ever is a pure, fair soul.
More Bram Stoker Quotes
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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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I saw the Count lying within the box upon the earth, some of which the rude falling from the cart had scattered over him. He was deathly pale, just like a waxen image, and the red eyes glared with the horrible vindictive look which I knew so well.
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But a stranger in a strange land, he is no one. Men know him not, and to know not is to care not for.
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I want to cut off her head and take out her heart.
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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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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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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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Bleeding hearts, and dry bones of the churchyard, and tears that burn as they fall — all dance together to the music that he make with that smileless mouth of him.
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I stood beside Van Helsing, and said;- “Ah, well, poor girl, there is peace for her at last. It is the end!” He turned to me, and said with grave solemnity:- “Not so; alas! not so. It is only the beginning!
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And so we remained till the red of the dawn began to fall through the snow gloom. I was desolate and afraid, and full of woe and terror. But when that beautiful sun began to climb the horizon life was to me again.
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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. A personal experience has intensified rather than diminished that idea.
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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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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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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.
BRAM STOKER