en

Bram Stoker

  • Sarahhas quoted2 years ago
    , what a wealth of sor­row in a few words! Poor Mrs. Westenra! poor Lucy!
  • Josshas quoted2 years ago
    But he is right enough about the beds and windows and things

    She makes little effort due to depression she is dealing with and the idea that John being her husband and physician being better and more intelligent to understand what is better for her

  • tolstykhtathas quoted2 years ago
    What I saw was the Count’s head com­ing out from the win­dow. I did not

    Роь

  • tolstykhtathas quotedlast year
    I was not alone. The room was the same, un­changed in any way since I came into it; I could see along the floor, in the bril­liant moon­light, my own foot­step
  • Sasha Midlhas quoted2 years ago
    Some of the “New Wo­men” writers will some day start an idea that men and wo­men should be al­lowed to see each other asleep be­fore pro­pos­ing or ac­cept­ing. But I sup­pose the New Wo­man won’t con­des­cend in fu­ture to ac­cept; she will do the pro­pos­ing her­self. And a nice job she will make of it, too! There’s some con­sol­a­tion in that.
  • Sasha Midlhas quoted2 years ago
    I have been more touched than I can say by your grief. That is a won­der­ful ma­chine, but it is cruelly true. It told me, in its very tones, the an­guish of your heart. It was like a soul cry­ing out to Almighty God. No one must hear them spoken ever again! See, I have tried to be use­ful. I have copied out the words on my type­writer, and none other need now hear your heart beat, as I did.”
  • Sasha Midlhas quoted2 years ago
    Good night, every­body.
  • Anahas quoted2 years ago
    I am alone in the castle with those aw­ful wo­men. Faugh! Mina is a wo­man, and there is nought in com­mon. They are dev­ils of the Pit!
  • Anahas quoted2 years ago
    I gave Ren­field a strong opi­ate to­night, enough to make even him sleep, and took away his pock­et­book to look at it. The thought that has been buzz­ing about my brain lately is com­plete, and the the­ory proved. My hom­icidal ma­niac is of a pe­cu­liar kind. I shall have to in­vent a new clas­si­fic­a­tion for him, and call him a zoöphag­ous (life-eat­ing) ma­niac; what he de­sires is to ab­sorb as many lives as he can, and he has laid him­self out to achieve it in a cu­mu­lat­ive way. He gave many flies to one spider and many spiders to one bird, and then wanted a cat to eat the many birds. What would have been his later steps? It would al­most be worth while to com­plete the ex­per­i­ment. It might be done if there were only a suf­fi­cient cause. Men sneered at vi­vi­sec­tion, and yet look at its res­ults today! Why not ad­vance sci­ence in its most dif­fi­cult and vi­tal as­pect—the know­ledge of the brain? Had I even the secret of one such mind—did I hold the key to the fancy of even one lun­atic—I might ad­vance my own branch of sci­ence to a pitch com­pared with which Bur­don-Sander­son’s physiology or Fer­rier’s brain-know­ledge would be as noth­ing. If only there were a suf­fi­cient cause! I must not think too much of this, or I may be temp­ted; a good cause might turn the scale with me, for may not I too be of an ex­cep­tional brain, con­gen­it­ally?

    How well the man reasoned; lun­at­ics al­ways do within their own scope. I won­der at how many lives he val­ues a man, or if at only one. He has closed the ac­count most ac­cur­ately, and today be­gun a new re­cord. How many of us be­gin a new re­cord with each day of our lives?

    To me it seems only yes­ter­day that my whole life ended with my new hope, and that truly I began a new re­cord. So it will be un­til the Great Re­corder sums me up and closes my ledger ac­count with a bal­ance to profit or loss. Oh, Lucy, Lucy, I can­not be angry with you, nor can I be angry with my friend whose hap­pi­ness is yours; but I must only wait on hope­less and work. Work! work!

    If I only could have as strong a cause as my poor mad friend there—a good, un­selfish cause to make me work—that would be in­deed hap­pi­ness.
  • Anahas quoted2 years ago
    I know there is sun­rise be­cause I am a sailor, why else I know not. I dared not go be­low, I dared not leave the helm; so here all night I stayed, and in the dim­ness of the night I saw It—Him! God for­give me, but the mate was right to jump over­board. It was bet­ter to die like a man; to die like a sailor in blue wa­ter no man can ob­ject. But I am cap­tain, and I must not leave my ship. But I shall baffle this fiend or mon­ster, for I shall tie my hands to the wheel when my strength be­gins to fail, and along with them I shall tie that which He—It!—dare not touch; and then, come good wind or foul, I shall save my soul, and my hon­our as a cap­tain. I am grow­ing weaker, and the night is com­ing on. If He can look me in the face again, I may not have time to act. … If we are wrecked, may­hap this bottle may be found, and those who find it may un­der­stand; if not, … well, then all men shall know that I have been true to my trust. God and the Blessed Vir­gin and the saints help a poor ig­nor­ant soul try­ing to do his duty.
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