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.

What comes to your mind when you think of the word Transylvania, if you ponder it at all? What comes to my mind are mountains of savage beauty, ancient castles, werewolves, and witches - a land of magical obscurity. How, in short, am I to believe I will still be in Europe, on entering such a realm? I shall let you know if it's Europe or fairyland, when I get there. First, Snagov - I set out tomorrow.

Festina Lente (Hurry in slowly)

No book that is written for an external purpose is going to be a passionately felt book for the writer or the reader. I don't see the point in doing that.

He can't really love anyone, you know, and in the end such people are always alone, no matter how much other people once loved them.

I've read there is no such thing as a single tear, that old poetic trope. And perhaps there isn't, since hers was simply a companion to my own.

I've noticed Dracula was often as practical a fellow as he was a nasty one.