Now I want to live like everybody else. I want to have a wife like everybody else and to take her out on Sundays. I have invented a mask that makes m….

Erik is not truly dead. He lives on within the souls of those who choose to listen to the music of the night..

A ghost who, on the same evening, carries off an opera-singer and steals twenty-thousand francs is a ghost who must have his hands very full!.

Know that it is a corpse who loves you and adores you and will never, never leave you!...Look, I am not laughing now, crying, crying for you, Christi….

why do you condemn a man whom you have never met, whom no one knows and about whom even you yourself know nothing?.

Why, you love him! Your fear, your terror, all of that is just love and love of the most exquisite kind, the kind which people do not admit even to t….

Everyone dies. I just choose the time and place for some of them!.

You must know that I am made of death, from head to foot, and it is a corpse who loves you and adores you and will never, never leave you!.

I tore off my mask so as not to lose one of her tears... and she did not run away!...and she did not die!... She remained alive, weeping over me, wee….

You are crying! You are afraid of me! And yet I am not really wicked. Love me and you shall see! All I wanted was to be loved for myself..

When a woman has seen me, as you have, she belongs to me. She loves me forever..

He stared dully at the desolate, cold road and the pale, dead night. Nothing was colder or more dead than his heart. He had loved an angel and now he….

If I am the phantom, it is because man's hatred has made me so. If I am to be saved it is because your love redeems me..

Erik: Are you very tired? Christine: Oh, tonight I gave you my soul, and I am dead. Erik: Your soul is a beautiful thing, child. No emperor received ….

An author really ought to have nothing but flowers in the room where he works..

None will ever be a true Parisian who has not learned to wear a mask of gaiety over his sorrows and one of sadness, boredom, or indifference over his….

Poor, unhappy Erik! Shall we pity him? Shall we curse him? He asked only to be 'some one,' like everybody else. But he was too ugly! And he had to hi….

No, he is not a ghost; he is a man of Heaven and earth, that is all..

Blood!...Blood!... That's a good thing! A ghost who bleeds is less dangerous!.

The opera ghost really existed.

All I wanted was to be loved for myself." (Erik).