"How blessed are some people, whose lives have no fears, no dreads; to whom sleep is a blessing that ..." — Bram Stoker

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.

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.

It was like a miracle, but before our very eyes, and almost in the drawing of a breath, the whole body crumbled into dust and passed from our sight.

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.