Phantom Opera Quotes

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.

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

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

None of us can choose where we shall love...

He had a heart that could have held the entire empire of the world; and, in the end, he had to content himself with a cellar.

Softly, deftly, music shall caress you. Hear it, feel it, Secretly possess 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, weeping with me. We cried together! I have tasted all the happiness the world can offer.

Are people so unhappy when they love?" "Yes, Christine, when they love and are not sure of being loved.

Floating, falling, sweet intoxication. Touch me, trust me, savor each sensation. Let the dream begin, let your darker side give in to the power of the music of the night.

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.

Tonight I gave you my soul, and I am dead." - Christine, from Gaston Leroux's: The Phantom of the Opera.

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, Christine, who have torn off my mask and who therefore can never leave me again!...Oh, mad Christine, who wanted to see me!

The passion I feel for you is more than you’re prepared for. - Eric

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!

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 inward joy.

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 so fair a gift. The angels wept to-night.

They played at hearts as other children might play at ball; only, as it was really their two hearts that they flung to and fro, they had to be very, very handy to catch them, each time, without hurting them.

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 hide his genius or use it to play tricks with, when, with an ordinary face, he would have been one of the most distinguished of mankind! He had a heart that could have held the entire empire of the world; and, in the end, he had to content himself with a cellar. Ah, yes, we must need pity the Opera ghost...

Our lives are one masked ball.

Love me - that's all I ask of you.

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

She's singing to-night to bring the chandelier down!

Say you'll love me every waking moment.

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 despised a woman.

But do you love me? If Erik were good-looking, would you love me, Christine?

Holy angel, in Heaven blessed, My spirit longs with thee to rest

Too many years fighting back tears. Why can't the past just die? Wishing you were somehow here again, knowing we must say goodbye. Try to forgive, teach me to live, give me the strength to try! No more memories, no more silent tears, no more gazing across the wasted years. Help me say goodbye.

Little Lotte thought of everything and nothing. Her hair was as 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 red shoes and her fiddle, but loved most of all, when she went to sleep, to hear the Angel of Music.

Say you'll share with me one love, one lifetime. Lead me, save me from my solitude. Say you want me with you, here beside you. Anywhere you go, let me go, too. Christine; that's all I ask of you.

Does he love you so much?" "He would commit murder for me.

Wildly my Mind beats against you, but my soul obeys.

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

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

RAOUL: Free her! Do what you like, only free her! Have you no pity? PHANTOM: Your lover makes a passionate plea! CHRISTINE: Please, Raoul, it's useless... RAOUL: I love her! Does that mean nothing? I love her! Show some compassion... PHANTOM: The world showed no compassion to me!

I am going to die of love....daroga....I am dying of love .... That's how it is... I loved her so! And I love her still...daroga.....and I am dying of love for her, I tell you! if you knew how beautiful she was when she let me kiss her...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!

You will be the happiest of women. And we will sing, all by ourselves, till we swoon away with delight. 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.

And, despite the care which she took to look behind her at every moment, she failed to see a shadow which followed her like her own shadow, which stopped when she stopped, which started again when she did and which made no more noise than a well-conducted shadow should.

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 me look like anybody. People will not even turn round in the streets. You will be the happiest of women. And we will sing, all by ourselves, till we swoon away with delight. 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.

Close your eyes and let music set you free.

I am the little boy who went into the sea to rescue your scarf

Sometimes, the Angel [of Music] leans over the cradle... and that is how there are little prodigies who play the fiddle at six better than men of fifty, which, you must admit is very wonderful. Sometimes, the Angel comes much later, because the children are naughty and won't learn their lessons or practice their scales. And sometimes, he does not come at all, because the children have a wicked heart or a bad conscience.

Look!You want to see? See! Feast your eyes, glut your soul on my cursed ugliness! Look at Erik's face! Now you know the face of the voice! You were not content to hear me, eh? You wanted to know what I looked like? Oh, you women are so inquisitive! Well, are you satisfied? I'm a good-looking fellow, eh?...When a woman has seen me, as you have, she belongs to me.She loves me forever! I am a kind of Don Juan, you know!...Look at me! I am Don Juan Triumphant! -Erik in The Phantom of the Opera

He loved her so much that it almost took his breath away.

I had reached up and pulled the castle of dreams down around him.

My mind has touched the farthest horizons of mortal imagination and reaches ever outward to embrace infinity. There is no knowledge beyond my comprehension, no art or skill upon this entire planet that lies beyond the mastery of my hand. And yet, like Faust, I look in vain, I learn in vain. . . . For as long as I live, no woman will ever look on me in love.

Slowly, gently night unfurls its splendor. Grasp it, sense it, tremulous and tender. Turn your face away from the garish light of day, turn your thoughts away from cold, unfeeling light, and listen to the music of the night... Close your eyes and surrender to your darkest dreams, purge your thoughts of the life you knew before. Close your eyes, let your spirit start to soar, and live, as you never lived before!

...the girl with the tip-tilted nose, the forget-me-not eyes, the rose red cheeks and the lily-white neck and shoulders who gave the explanation in a trembling voice: “It’s the ghost!

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.

Tonight I gave you my soul and I am dead.

There is some music that is so terrible that it consumes all those who approach it.

Guard your throats and hide your eyes. He’s not dead, you fools. Legends never die.

If on thoughts of death we are fed, Thus, a coffin, became my bed.

So do you end your days with me, or do you send him to his grave

He looked up in despair at the starry sky, he struck his burning chest with his fist; he loved and he was not loved!

Poor, unhappy Erik! Shall we pity him? Shall we curse him? He asked only to be 'someone,' like everybody else. But he was too ugly! And he had to hide his genius or use it to play tricks with, when, with an ordinary face, he would have been one of the most distinguished of mankind! He had a heart that could have held the empire of the world; and in the end had to content himself with a cellar. Surely we must pity the Opera ghost!

I am an honest girl, M. le Vicomte de Chagny, and I don't lock myself up in my dressing-room with men's voices.

A mask you ask? Optional I find! Masks lend appeal of a mysterious kind.

Hullo… the wall is a looking-glass!

He had a hear that could have held the empire of the world; and, in the end, he had to content himself with a cellar.

I am dying of love. That is how it is...I loved her so! And I love her still....and am dying of love for her. - I kissed her alive...and she looked as beautiful as if she had been dead. ~ Erik

Music has the power to make one forget everything save those sounds that touch your heart.

when a man", continued Raoul,"adopts such romantic methods to entice a young girl's affections. .." "The man must be either a villain, or the girl a fool: is that it?

He fills me with horror and I do not hate him. How can I hate him, Raoul? Think of Erik at my feet, in the house on the lake, underground. He accuses himself, he curses himself, he implores my forgiveness!...He confesses his cheat. He loves me! He lays at my feet an immense and tragic love. ... He has carried me off for love!...He has imprisoned me with him, underground, for love!...But he respects me: he crawls, he moans, he weeps!...And, when I stood up, Raoul, and told him that I could only despise him if he did not, then and there, give me my liberty...he offered it...he offered to show me the mysterious road...Only...only he rose too...and I was made to remember that, though he was not an angel, nor a ghost, nor a genius, he remained the voice...for he sang. And I listened ... and stayed!...That night, we did not exchange another word. He sang me to sleep.

Everybody knows that orthopedic science provides beautiful false noses for people who have lost their noses naturally or as a result of an operation.

Are people so unhappy when they love?

Love me and you'll see! To be good, all I ever needed was to be loved. If you loved me, I'd be gentle as a lamb and you could do whatever you pleased with me.

Why do you condemn a man who you have never seen, whom no one knows about and whom you yourself know nothing?

Oh, my betrothed of a day, if I did not love you, I would not give you my lips! Take them, for the first time and the last.

He laid at my feet his immense, tragic love.

The shadow had followed behind them, clinging to their steps; and the two children little suspected its presence when they at last sat down, trustingly, under the mighty protection of Apollo, who, with a great bronze gesture, lifted his huge lyre to the heart of a crimson sky.

Nobody could see the ghost in his box, but everybody could hear him.

You must expect to make enemies." "I never expect to make anything else," he said.

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!

Destiny has chained you to me forever!

I give you back your liberty, Christine, on condition that this ring is always on your finger. As long as you keep it, you will be protected against all danger and Erik will remain your friend. But woe to you if you ever part with it, for Erik will have his revenge!

Christine, we will go from here together or die together. ~ Raoul

Let her destroy me if she will. Better to be destroyed by her love than to never have known it. Erik Book 2~Chanson de l'Ange: The Angel's Song

But you would have lots of fun with me. For instance, I am the the greatest ventriloquist that ever lived, I am the first ventriloquist in the world!

I'm sick and tired of having a forest and a torture chamber in my house... I want to have a nice quiet flat with ordinary doors and windows and a wife inside it, like anybody else!

His horrible, unique, and repulsive ugliness put him beyond the pale of humanity, and it had often been apparent to me that for this reason he no longer felt he had any obligations to the human race.

No, of course not.... 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 themselves. The kind that gives you a thrill, when you think of it.... Picture it: a man who lives in a palace underground!" - Raoul

You see, Christine, there is some music that is so terrible that it consumes all those who approach it.

... My mother, daroga, my poor, unhappy mother would never... let me kiss her... She used to run away... and throw me my mask!... Nor any other woman... ever, ever!... Ah, you can understand, my happiness was so great, I cried. And fell at her feet, crying... and I kissed her feet... her little feet... crying. You're crying, too, daroga... and she cried also... the angel cried!...

True beauty lies not upon gilded veneers, But found in the soul within.

A dark and towering shadow, rising like the phoenix from the ashes...malevolent...omnipotent...The Phantom of the Opera!

May one ask at least to what darkness you are returning?… For what hell are you leaving, mysterious lady…or for what paradise?

I sing only for you! Tonight I gave you my soul, and I'm dead!

What tragedies, what passions, what crimes had surrounded the idyll of Raoul and his sweet and charming Christine!... What had become of that wonderful, mysterious artist of whom the world was never, never to hear again?...

I give you five minutes to spare your blushes. here is the little bronze key that opens the ebony caskets on the mantle piece in the Louise-Phillipe room. In one of the caskets you will find a scorpion, in the other, a grasshopper, both very cleverly imitated in Japanese bronze: they will say yes or no for you. If you turn the scorpion round, that will mean to me, when I return that you have said yes. The grasshopper will mean no... The grasshopper, be careful of the grass hopper! A grasshopper does not only turn: it hops! It hops! And it hops jolly high!

None will ever be true Parisian who has not learned to wear a mask of gaiety over his sorrows...

Say you'll love me every waking moment, Turn my head with talk of summertime, Say you need me with you now and always, Promise me that all you say is true, thats all I ask of you.

He offered his love ... she could not bother, She gives her love to the other! The other!

Tonight she's still wearing the gold ring, and you're not the one who gave it to her. Tonight she gave her soul again, but not to you.

Erik, Erik! I saved your life! Remember? You were scentenced to death! But for me you would be dead by now.

You were once my one companion, You were all that mattered. You were once a friend and father, Then my world was shattered. Wishing you were somehow here again, Wishing you were somehow near. Sometimes it seemed if I just dreamed, Somehow you would be here. Wishing I could hear your voice again, Knowing that I never would Dreaming of you won’t help me to do All that you dreamed I could Passing bells and sculpted angels Cold and monumental Seem for you the wrong companions You were warm and gentle Too many years fighting back tears Why cant the past just die Wishing you were somehow here again Knowing we must say goodbye Try to forgive Teach me to live Give me the strength to try No more memories No more silent tears No more gazing across the wasted years Help me say goodbye Help me say goodbye

If I don't save her from the hands of that humbug," he said, aloud, as he went to bed, "she is lost. But I shall save her." He put out his lamp and felt a need to insult Erik in the dark. Thrice over, he shouted: "Humbug!...Humbug!...Humbug!

I need to know why I’m so broken, so I can fix myself. One way or another. Maybe this place can help me do that, and then I can finally look forward to my future. Because I’m starting to realize there’s something worse than stepping up and facing your fears – and that’s living as if you’re already dead.

Meg reached out to Erik before he could turn away. "Are you...?" He didn't let her finish. Instead he reached inside the carriage and placed his hand tenderly behind her neck drawing her to his face. He placed hi lips softly, yet passionately on her. Hardly had he withdrawn from hers then he whispered, "Forgive me, Meg. Forgive me for wanting...?" "Ssshhh. You're here. I'm here." She raised her handkerchief and wiped the lone tear that had escaped his mask.

Is the mask magic?" he demanded with sudden, passionate interest. "Yes." I bowed my head, so that our eyes no longer met. "I made it magic to keep you safe. The mask is your friend, Erik. As long as you wear it, no mirror can ever show you the face again." He was silent then and when I showed him the new mask he accepted it without question and put it on hastily with his clumsy, bandaged fingers. But when I stood up to go, he reacted with panic and clutched at my grown. "Don't go! Don't leave me here in the dark." "You are not in the dark," I said patiently. "Look, I have left the candle ..." But I knew, as I looked at him, that it would have made no difference if I had left him fifty candles. The darkness he feared was in his own mind and there was no light in the universe powerful enough to take that darkness from him. With a sigh of resignation I sat back on the bed and began to sing softly; and before I had finished the first verse, he was asleep. The bandages on his hands and wrists showed white and eerie in the candle-light, as I eased my skirts from his grasp. I knew that Marie was right. Physically and mentally, I had scarred him for life.

Then I saw the keyboard of an organ which filled one whole side of the walls. On the desk was a music-book covered with red notes. I asked leave to look at it and read, ‘Don Juan Triumphant.’ ‘Yes,’ he said, 'I compose sometimes.’ I began that work twenty years ago. When I have finished, I shall take it away with me in that coffin and never wake up again.’ 'You must work at it as seldom as you can,’ I said. He replied, 'I sometimes work at it for fourteen days and nights together, during which I live on music only, and then I rest for years at a time.’ 'Will you play me something out of your Don Juan Triumphant?’ I asked, thinking to please him. 'You must never ask me that,’ he said, in a gloomy voice. 'I will play you Mozart, if you like, which will only make you weep; but my Don Juan, Christine, burns; and yet he is not struck by fire from Heaven.’ Thereupon we returned to the drawing-room. I noticed that there was no mirror in the whole apartment. I was going to remark upon this, but Erik had already sat down to the piano. He said, 'You see, Christine, there is some music that is so terrible that it consumes all those who approach it. Fortunately, you have not come to that music yet, for you would lose all your pretty coloring and nobody would know you when you returned to Paris. Let us sing something from the Opera, Christine Daae.’ He spoke these last words as though he were flinging an insult at me.” “What did you do?” “I had no time to think about the meaning he put into his words. We at once began the duet in Othello and already the catastrophe was upon us. I sang Desdemona with a despair, a terror which I had never displayed before. As for him, his voice thundered forth his revengeful soul at every note. Love, jealousy, hatred, burst out around us in harrowing cries. Erik’s black mask made me think of the natural mask of the Moor of Venice. He was Othello himself. Suddenly, I felt a need to see beneath the mask. I wanted to know the FACE of the voice, and, with a movement which I was utterly unable to control, swiftly my fingers tore away the mask. Oh, horror, horror, horror!” Christine stopped, at the thought of the vision that had scared her, while the echoes of the night, which had repeated the name of Erik, now thrice moaned the cry: “Horror! … Horror! … Horror!