The House of the Vampire

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Moffat, Yard, 1912 - Vampires - 190 pages
21 Reviews
  

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Review: The House of the Vampire

User Review  - Goodreads

I really liked the originality of this novella, the depth of ideas discussed by the characters and the deliciously inevitable ending. They just don't write like this anymore, and what a shame. Read full review

Review: The House of the Vampire

User Review  - Corlene Dorrington - Goodreads

I really liked the originality of this novella, the depth of ideas discussed by the characters and the deliciously inevitable ending. They just don't write like this anymore, and what a shame. Read full review

Selected pages

Contents

I
1
II
7
III
13
IV
19
V
25
VI
31
VII
37
VIII
41
XVII
97
XVIII
101
XIX
105
XX
111
XXI
121
XXII
127
XXIII
135
XXIV
141

IX
47
X
53
XI
59
XII
65
XIII
71
XIV
77
XV
83
XVI
91
XXV
149
XXVI
155
XXVII
161
XXVIII
167
XXIX
175
XXX
181
XXXI
189
Copyright

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Page 118 - Balzac — they concentrate the dispersed rays of a thousand lesser luminaries in one singing flame that, like a giant's torch, lights up humanity's path.
Page 4 - Many years later, when the vultures of misfortune had swooped down upon [Reginald], and his name was no longer mentioned without a sneer, he was still remembered in New York drawing rooms as the man who had brought to perfection the art of talking
Page 185 - ... Oscar Wilde. Dracula was one particularly debased incarnation of the fallen Wilde, a monster of silence and exile, vulnerable to a legalistic series of arcane rules. Reginald Clark in George Sylvester Viereck's American novel The House of the Vampire (1907) is Wilde inflated into cosmic world-brain, "an embodiment of the same force of which Alexander, Caesar, Confucius and the Christos were also embodiments.
Page 94 - In the presence of this man he could be absolutely himself, without shame or fear of misunderstanding ; and by a strange metamorphosis, all his affection for Ethel and Jack went out for the time being to Reginald Clarke.
Page 126 - In her mind's eye she saw Reginald crush between his relentless hands the delicate soul of Ernest Fielding, as a magnificent carnivorous flower might close its glorious petals upon a fly
Page 48 - His hands may be red with blood or white with leprosy: he still remains king. Woe to him, however, if he transcends the limits of his kingdom and translates into action the secret of his dreams. The throng that before applauded him will stone his quivering body or nail to the cross his delicate hands and feet.
Page 113 - The secret of my strength is my ability to reject every element that is harmful or inessential to the completion of my self.
Page 146 - The world is overcoming the shallow scepticism of the nineteenth century. Life has become once more wonderful and very mysterious. But it also seems that, with the miracles of the old days, their terrors, their nightmares and their monsters have come back in a modern guise.
Page 33 - Why, the matter is very simple. Our hearts root in the same soil; the same books have nourished us, the same great winds have shaken our being, and the same sunshine called forth the beautiful blossom of friendship.
Page 124 - We are all slaves, wire-pulled marionettes : You, Ernest, I. There is no freedom on the face of the earth nor above. The tiger that tears a lamb is not free, I am not free, you are not free.

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