The blood is the life!

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.

But a stranger in a strange land, he is no one. Men know him not, and to know not is to care not for.

Listen to them, the children of the night. What music they make!

For now, feeling as though my own brain were unhinged or as if the shock had come which must end in its undoing, I turn to my diary for repose. The habit of entering accurately must help sooth me.

There are bad dreams for those who sleep unwisely.

Yes, there is some one I love, though he has not told me yet that he even loves me.