She was young and very beautiful, but pale, like the grey pallor of death. - Bram Stoker

But this night our feet must tread in thorny paths, or later, and for ever, the feet you love must walk in paths of flame!

She makes a very beautiful corpse, sir. It's quite a privilege to attend on her. It's not too much to say that she will do credit to our establishment!

It is a strange world, a sad world, a world full of miseries, and woes, and troubles; and yet when King Laugh come he make them all dance to the tune he play. Bleeding hearts, and dry bones of the churchyard, and tears that burn as they fall — all dance together to the music that he make with that smileless mouth of him.