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She was young and very beautiful, but pale, like the grey pallor of death.

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
Beautiful
Young
Like
Pallor
Grey
Pale
Death

More quotes by Bram Stoker

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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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Nature in one of her beneficent moods has ordained that even death has some antidote to its own terrors.
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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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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.
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Take me away from all this Death.
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Though sympathy alone can't alter facts, it can help to make them more bearable.
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It is ever thus that the things which we do wrong - although they may seem little at the time, and though from the hardness of our hearts we pass them lightly by - come back to us with bitterness.
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We are all drifting reefwards now, and faith is our only anchor.
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Oh, why must a man like that be made unhappy when there are lots of girls about who would worship the very ground he trod on?
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I do not, as you know, take sufficient interest in dress to be able to describe the new fashions. Dress is a bore.
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This man belongs to me, I want him!
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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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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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There is a reason why all things are as they are.
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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! 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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Yes, there is some one I love, though he has not told me yet that he even loves me.
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I am all in a sea of wonders. I doubt I fear I think strange things, which I dare not confess to my own soul. God keep me, if only for the sake of those dear to me!
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I want you to believe...to believe in things that you cannot.
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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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There was a deliberate voluptuousness that was both thrilling and repulsive. And as she arched her neck she actually licked her lips like an animal till I could see in the moonlight the moisture Then lapped the white, sharp teeth. Lower and lower went her head. I closed my eyes in a languorous ecstasy and waited.
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