Elizabeth Johnson Kostova (born December 26, 1964) is an American author best known for her debut novel The Historian.
It touched me to be trusted with something terrible.
I've noticed Dracula was often as practical a fellow as he was a nasty one.
He brought his great hand to rest on an early edition of Bram Stoker's novel and smiled, but said nothing. Then he moved quietly away into another section.
The very worst impulses of humankind can survive generations, centuries, even millennia. And the best of our individual efforts can die with us at the end of a single lifetime.
Today I will go to wait for her again, because I cannot help it, because my whole being seems now to be bound up in the being of one so different from myself and yet so exquisitely familiar that I can scarely understand what has happened.
For me, Dracula has always been associated with travel and beautiful historical places.
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.
Then you must say to her, 'Madame, I observe that your heart is broken. Allow me to repair it for you.
I've always been interested in foreign relations. It's my belief that study of history should be our preparation for understanding the present rather than an escape from it.
My publishers are wonderful because they have let me write what I wanted to. They're wise enough to know that, with any author who's not simply writing formulas - who's trying to create something new - pressuring them to do something for market purposes almost always backfires. I can't imagine working under those circumstances, actually.
I think it's important to recognise that 'The Da Vinci Code' opened up a vast new audience for a general readership interested in historical detective stories and research into history.
I keep telling myself I should try very hard to write a novel of about 210 pages. . . I don't seem to be capable of it, but I keep hoping it will happen.
The heart does not go backward. Only the mind.
I wasn't brought up to be dazzled by money or fame.
It was not the brutality of what occurred next that changed my mind and brought home to me the full meaning of fear. It was the brilliance of it.
I believe in walking out of a museum before the paintings you've seen begin to run together. How else can you carry anything away with you in your mind's eye?
I love to cook and I've cooked a lot of Bulgarian food over the years.
The thing that most haunted me that day, however. . . was the fact that these things had - apparently - actually occurred. . . For all his attention to my historical education, my father had neglected to tell me this: history's terrible moments were real. I understand now, decades later, that he could never have told me. Only history itself can convince you of such a truth. And once you've seen that truth - really seen it - you can't look away.
Faith is simply whatever is real to us.
My guess is that he remembers some of me, some of us together, and the rest rolled off him like topsoil in a flash flood.