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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.

Bram Stoker

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Bram Stoker
Age: 64 †
Born: 1847
Born: November 8
Died: 1912
Died: April 20
Clerk
Journalist
Novelist
Screenwriter
Theatre Critic
Theatre Manager
Writer
Clontarf
Ireland
Abraham Stoker
Stranger
Strange
Land
Care
Men

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We are all drifting reefwards now, and faith is our only anchor.
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The blood is the life!
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I'm a hard nut to crack, and I take it standing up.
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This man belongs to me, I want him!
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I will not let you go into the unknown alone.
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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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It is wonderful what tricks our dreams play us, and how conveniently we can imagine.
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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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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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There is a reason why all things are as they are.
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It is only when a man feels himself face to face with such horrors that he can understand their true import.
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He may not enter anywhere at the first, unless there be some one of the household who bid him to come, though afterwards he can come as he please.
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Safety and the assurance of safety are things of the past.
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I am longing to be with you, and by the sea, where we can talk together freely and build our castles in the air.
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How good and thoughtful he is the world seems full of good men--even if there are monsters in it.
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The Stars are a long way off, and their words get somewhat dulled in the message.
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She was young and very beautiful, but pale, like the grey pallor of death.
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Loneliness will sit over our roofs with brooding wings.
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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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Never did tombs look so ghastly white. Never did cypress, or yew, or juniper so seem the embodiment of funeral gloom. Never did tree or grass wave or rustle so ominously. Never did bough creak so mysteriously, and never did the far-away howling of dogs send such a woeful presage through the night.
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