History has taught us that the nature of man is evil, sublimely so. Good is not perfectible, but evil is. Why should you not use your great mind in service of what is perfectible? I ask you, my friend, to join me of your own accord in my research. If you do so, you will save yourself great anguish, and you will save me considerable trouble. Together we will advance the historian's work beyond anything the world has ever seen. There is no purity like the purity of the sufferings of history. You will have what every historian wants: history will be reality to you. We will wash our minds clean with blood.
Elizabeth KostovaTag: dracula
These are works of history about your century, the twentieth. A fine century-I look forward to the rest of it.
Elizabeth KostovaTag: dracula
He said there is a place in Gaul, the oldest church in their part of the world, where some of the Latin monks have outwitted death by secret means. He offered to sell me their secrets, which he has inscribed in a book."
The abbot shudders. "God preserve us from such heresies," he says hastily. "I am certain, my son, that you refused this temptation."
Dracula smiles. "You know I am fond of books.
Tag: dracula
Faith is simply whatever is real to us.
Elizabeth KostovaTag: faith
And how could anyone consent to give up the smell of open books, old or new?
Elizabeth KostovaTag: books
It was strange, I reflected.. that even in the weirdest circumstances, the most troubling episodes of one's life, the greatest divides from home and familiarity, there were these moments of undeniable joy.
Elizabeth KostovaTag: life joy weird circumstances
There is nothing harder, at moments, than talking to someone who has all the power of silence.
Elizabeth KostovaTag: remaining-silent
In the end, I always act from the heart, even if I also value reason and tradition. I wish I could explain why, but I don't know.
Elizabeth KostovaTag: self
..then you must say to her, ‘Madame, I observe that your heart is broken. Allow me to repair it for you...
Elizabeth KostovaI lay awake for hours in my twin bed next to the other, empty bed, feeling and hearing the spruces, the hemlocks, the rhododendron scraping at the partly open window, the verdant mountain out there in the night, the burgeoning of nature that did not seem to include me. And when, my restless body asked my teeming brain, had I agreed to be excluded?
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