I have a sort of empty feeling; nothing in the world seems of sufficient importance to be worth the doing.
BRAM STOKERHow 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.
More Bram Stoker Quotes
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Loneliness will sit over our roofs with brooding wings.
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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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We are able to learn from a failure, but perhaps not much from a success!
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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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Do you believe in destiny? That even the powers of time can be altered for a single purpose? That the luckiest man who walks on this earth is the one who finds… true love?
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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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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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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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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.
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These infinitesimal distinctions between man and man are too paltry for an Omnipotent Being. How these madmen give themselves away! The real God taketh heed lest a sparrow fall. But the God created from human vanity sees no difference between an eagle and a sparrow.
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The angels of the dark, restoring sight; We go — the pains of Day to soothe, console — Awake, arise! Behold thou art made whole.
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I sometimes think we must be all mad and that we shall wake to sanity in strait-waistcoats.
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No man knows where the Castle of King Death is. All men and women, boys and girls, and even little wee children should so live that when they have to enter the Castle and see the grim King, they may not fear to behold his face.
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Oh, the terrible struggle that I have had against sleep so often of late; the pain of the sleeplessness, or the pain of the fear of sleep, and with such unknown horror as it has for me!
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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.
BRAM STOKER