Quotes from Gaston Leroux

So Mauclair takes snuff, does he? he asked carelessly. `Yes, Mr. Commissary....Look, there is his snuff-box on that little shelf....Oh! he's a great snuff-taker! So am I, said Mifroid and put the snuff-box in his pocket.

Celui-là ne sera jamais Parisien qui n'aura point appris à mettre un masque de joie sur ses douleurs et le « loup » de la tristesse, de l'ennui ou de l'indifférence sur son intime allégresse.

Raoul suffered, for she was very beautiful and he was shy and he dared not confess his love, even to himself.

Maskemin ard?nda gizlenen bu aÅŸk? yaln?zca sen görebilirsin...

No one will ever be a Parisian without learning to put a mask of joy over his sorrows and a mask of sadness, boredom, or indifference over his inner joy. . . Parisians are always at a masked ball . . .

And the voice, the voice which I had recognized under the mask, was on its knees before me was a man ! And I began to cry... The man, still kneeling, must have understood the cause of my tears, for he said, 'It is true, Christine!... I am not an Angel, nor a genius, nor a ghost... I am Erik!

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. If you loved me I should be as gentle as a lamb; and you could do anything with me that you pleased. Soon

of a gentleman in dress-clothes, who had suddenly stood before them in the passage, without their knowing where he came from. He seemed to have come straight through

Little Lotte thought of everything and nothing. Her hair was golden as the sun's rays and her soul as clear and blue as her eyes. She wheedled her mother, was kind to her doll, took great care of her frock and her little red shoes and her fiddle, but most of all loved, when she went to sleep, to hear the Angel of Music.

Of love ... daroga ... I am dying ... of love ... That is how it is ... loved her so! ... And I love her still ... daroga ... and I am dying of love for her, I ... I tell you! ... If you knew how beautiful she was ... when she let me kiss her ... alive ... It was the first ... time, daroga, the first ... time I ever kissed a woman ... Yes, alive ... I kissed her alive ... and she looked as beautiful as if she had been dead! The

Often he would play his saddest tunes on the beach and pretend that the sea stopped its roaring to listen to them.

No one ever sees the angel; but he is heard by those who are meant to hear him.

Why do you condemn a man you've never seen, a man no one knows, a man you know nothing about?

En la vida hay que acostumbrarse a todo, incluso a la eternidad.

who was big and strong, like you, M. Richard, gave two blows to M. Isidore Saack, who was small and weak like M. Moncharmin

No, no, you have driven me mad! When I think that I had only one object in life: to give my name to an opera wench!

The Opera ghost really existed. He was not, as was long believed, a creature of the imagination of the artists, the superstition of the managers, or a product of the absurd and impressionable brains of the young ladies of the ballet, their mothers, the box-keepers, the cloak-room attendants or the concierge. Yes, he existed in flesh and blood, although he assumed the complete appearance of a real phantom; that is to say, of a spectral shade. When

Mysterious though the ghost may at first appear, he will always be more easily explained than the dismal story in which malevolent people have tried to picture two brothers killing each other who had worshiped each other all their lives. Believe me, etc.

Your soul is a beautiful thing, child, replied the grave man's voice, and I thank you. No emperor ever received so fair a gift.

I have tasted all the happiness the world can offer!

Well, then, it's quite simple . . . Christine Daaé shall leave this as she pleases and come back again! . . . Yes, come back again, because she wishes . . . come back of herself, because she loves me for myself! . . .

The Phantom: 'You know, Christine, I think I have hallucinations.

That [never leaving home] is an undertaking which I have not asked of you and a promise which I refuse to make you!' said the young girl, haughtily. 'I am mistress of my own actions, M de Chagny: you have no right to control them; and I will beg you to desist henceforth. As to what I have done during the last fortnight, there is only one man in the world who has the right to demand an account of me: my husband! Well, I have no husband and I never mean to marry!

Ah, you wouldn't be bored with me! I have more than one trick up my sleeve, not counting card tricks. . . . But you'd have fun with me! There's no one like me. . . there's no like me, for example, when it come to ventriloquism.