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I sometimes think we must be all mad and that we shall wake to sanity in strait-waistcoats.

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
Sanity
Mad
Wake
Shall
Sometimes
Must
Think
Thinking
Strait

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Because if a woman's heart was free a man might have hope.
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Chasing an errant swarm of bees is nothing to following a naked lunatic when the fit of escaping is upon him!
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I have a sort of empty feeling nothing in the world seems of sufficient importance to be worth the doing.
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Suddenly, I became conscious of the fact that the driver was in the act of pulling up the horses in the courtyard of a vast ruined castle, from whose tall black windows came no ray of light, and whose broken battlements showed a jagged line against the sky.
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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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Truly there is no such thing as finality.
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Yes, there is some one I love, though he has not told me yet that he even loves me.
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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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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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She was young and very beautiful, but pale, like the grey pallor of death.
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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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For me, I say no, but then I am old, and life, with his sunshine, his fair places, his song of birds, his music and his love, lie far behind. You others are young. Some have seen sorrow, but there are fair days yet in store. What say you?
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We learn of great things by little experiences.
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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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Let me be accurate in everything, for though you and I have seen some strange things together, you may at the first think that I, Van Helsing, am mad. That the many horrors and the so long strain on nerves has at the last turn my brain.
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A brave man's hand can speak for itself, it does not even need a woman's love to hear its music.
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I'm a hard nut to crack, and I take it standing up.
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Loneliness will sit over our roofs with brooding wings.
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