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Quote by Bram Stoker

“There was something so strange in all this, something so weird and impossible to imagine, that there grew on me a sense of my being in some way the sport of opposite forces - the mere vague idea of which seemed in a way to paralyse me. I was certainly under some form of mysterious protection. From a distant country had come, in the very nick of time, a message that took me out of the danger of the snow-sleep and the jaws of the wolf.”

Quote by Bram Stoker

Book:Dracula's Guest
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Dracula's Guest

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Author

Bram Stoker
Bram Stoker

Bram Stoker, born on November 8, 1847 in Ireland, was a renowned novelist in the late 19th and early 20th centuries. He is best known for his gothic novel 'Dracula,' published in 1897. more

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“A noi nobili della Transilvania non piace pensare che le nostre ossa riposino fra quelle dei comuni mortali. Non cerco allegrezza né letizia, né la luminosa voluttà del sole o delle acque chiare che tanto piacciono ai giovani e agli spensierati. Non sono più giovane, e il mio cuore dopo gravosi anni di lutto per i miei morti non è incline all'allegria. Inoltre, le mura del mio castello sono diroccate; molto sono le ombre e il vento soffia freddo fra le merlature e i battenti. Amo la semi-oscurità e le ombre e restare solo con i miei pensieri quando è possibile.”

DraculaBram Stoker
Book:Dracula
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“Nous nous tûmes l'un et l'autre ; pendant que nous attendions, je l'examinai. Un homme petit et râblé, brun comme un grain de café, ayant peut-être une tendance à engraisser, mais pour le moment excessivement mince. Les rides profondes de son visage et de son cou n'étaient pas seulement dues aux années et aux intempéries : elles indiquaient à ne pas s'y tromper les endroits où la chair ou la graisse avait fondu et où la peau s'était détendue. Le cou était simplement une surface où s'entrecroisaient les sillons et les rides et portait les traces laissées par le soleil brûlant du désert. L'Extrême-Orient, les Tropiques, le désert, chaque région laissait sa marque colorée. Mais toutes les trois étaient différentes ; et un œil qui avait su une fois pouvait ainsi les distinguer aisément. La pâleur bistrée pour le premier ; le brun rouge et violent pour la seconde ; et pour le troisième, le hâle sombre et profond qui avait pris, semblait-il, le caractère d'une coloration permanente. Mr. Corbeck avait une grosse tête pleine et massive ; avec des cheveux en désordre, d'un brun-rouge foncé, dégarnis sur les tempes. Son front était beau, haut et large ; et pour employer les termes de la physiognomonie, le sinus frontal était hardiment marqué. Sa forme carrée traduisait l'esprit raisonneur ; et la plénitude sous les yeux le don des langues. Il avait le nez court et large qui dénote l'énergie ; le menton carré - qu'on discernait malgré la barbe épaisse et non soignée - et la mâchoire massive qui montrent l'esprit de décision. « Un homme pas mal pour le désert ! » me disais-je en le regardant.”

TravelPhysiologyBram StokerEgyptology
Book:Oeuvres
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“Now, tell me, have you ever heard of upyr? Vampir? Shrtriga?" The words rolled and hissed in his mouth. They reminded me, for no clear reason, of the trip I'd taken with Mr. Locke to Vienna when I was twelve. It'd been February and the city was shadowed, wind-scoured, old. "Well, the name hardly matters. I'm sure you've heard of them in general outline: things that creep out of the black forests of the north and feast on the lifeblood of the living." He was removing the glove from his left hand as he spoke, tugging on each white fingertip. "Lies spread by superstitious peasants, in the main, repeated in story papers and sold to Victorian urchins." Now his hand was entirely free, fingers so pale I could see blue veins threading them. "Stoker should've been summarily executed, if you ask me." And he reached toward me. There was perhaps half a second before his fingertip touched me when all the fine hairs on my arm stood straight and my heart seized and I knew, in a scrabbling, animalish way, that I shouldn't let him touch me, that I should scream for help- but it was too late. His finger was cold against my skin. Beyond cold. An aching, burning, tooth-hurting absence of heat. My body warmth drained desperately toward it, but the cold was ravenous. My lips tried to form words but they felt numb and clumsy, as if I'd been out walking in freezing wind.”

BodyVampirePaleTemperatureSkin ColorBram Stoker
Book:The Ten Thousand Doors of January
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