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O conversatie intre viitoarea mama a lui Erik si o buna prietena care il include si pe viitorul nou nascut:
Citat:
(...)the baby kicked beneath my heart with such violence that I gave a gasp of shock.
"Nobody asked for your opinion, you little beast!" I muttered, halt angry half amused by this startling reminder of his unseen presence.
But Marie did not smile, as I had expected her to. Instead she turned away and looked intensely uncomfortable.
"I don't think you should say a thing like that, Madeleine. Mama says it's terribly unlucky to speak against the unborn."
"Oh, don't be such a goose!" I scoffed. "It can't hear me."
"No," she said uneasily, "but God can."
I laughed at her, all my good humor suddenly restored by her superstitious absurdity,

Mama lui ii pregateste prima "haina":
Citat:
Later, while he slept in a room full of summer sunlight, I sat in a chair feverishly fashioning the first garment he ever wore.
A mask...

Prima si singura aniversare a lui Erik:
Citat:
At length, when I went in and told him to go upstairs and put on his best clothes, he turned on the piano stool to look at me with surprise.
"It isn't Sunday ... is Father Mansart coming to say Mass again?"
"No," I replied, wiping my hands on my apron, and not looking at him directly. "It's your birthday."
He stared at me blankly and I felt a perfectly unreasonable irritation rising inside at the shameful necessity of explaining this basic phenomenon.
"The anniversary of your birth," I said shortly. "You were born five years ago today and the event should be celebrated."
"Like a requiem?"
For a second I wondered if he was mocking me, but the eyes fixed on mine were entirely innocent and puzzled.
"Not exactly," I said with difficulty.
"Then there won't be a Dies Irae?" I heard the sudden disappointment in his voice. "Or an Agnus Dei?"
"No ... but there will be a special supper."
I saw his interest shrivel and his glance wander back to the score on which he had been working.
"And a present," I found myself adding suddenly. "Mademoiselle Perrault is bringing you a present, Erik. I expect you to remember your manners and thank her nicely."
He turned to look at me curiously and for a horrible moment I thought I was going to be obliged to explain that too. But he said no more, only continued to gaze at me thoughtfully.
"Go upstairs and get changed while I set the table," I told him hastily.
As I pulled a tablecloth from the drawer, I was aware that he had made no effort to move.
"Mama."
"What is it now?" I demanded irritably.
"Will you give me a present too?"
I put the napkins out on the table with a trembling hand.
"Of course," I replied mechanically. "Is there something particular that you want?"
He came to stand beside me and something about his taut silence made me suddenly very uneasy. I sensed that he was afraid of my refusal, so no doubt whatever it was he wanted was going to be highly expensive.
"May I have anything I want?" he asked uncertainly.
"Within reason."
"May I have two of them?"
"Why should you need two?" I inquired warily.
"So that I can save one for when the other is used up."
I began to relax. This didn't sound very alarming ... nothing more extravagant than a ream of good quality paper, by the sound of it. Or perhaps a box of sweets...
"What is it you want?" I demanded with sudden confidence.
Silence.
I watched him playing with the napkins.
"Erik, I've had quite enough of this silly game now. If you don't tell me what you want straightaway, you will have nothing at all."
He jumped at the sharpness of my tone and began to twist a napkin between his thin fingers.
"I want- I want two ..." He stopped and put his hands on the table, as though to steady himself.
"For God's sake!" I snapped. "Two what?"
He looked up at me.
"Kisses," he whispered tremulously. "One now and one to save."
I stared at him in horror and without any warning burst into uncontrollable tears and sank down at the table.
"You must not ask that." I sobbed. "You must never, never ask that again ... do you understand me, Erik ... never!"
He shrank from my noisy grief in horror and backed away to the door.
"Why are you crying?" he stammered.
I made a mighty effort to control myself.
"I'm not ... crying." I gasped.
"Yes, you are!" he shouted in a voice that was suddenly ugly with rage. "You're crying and you won't give me my birthday present. You made me ask-you made me ask-and then you said no. Well, I don't want a birthday. ... I don't like birthdays. ... I hate them!"

Sperand ca va putea obtine dragostea Christinei, Erik isi intoarce atentia catre cel pe care il renegase inca de cand era mic datorita unui accident: Dumnezeu. Ajuns insa pe acoperisul operei, el urma sa vada pe Christine planuind sa fuga impreuna cu Raoul cat mai departe de Paris in ciuda promisiunii facute de aceasta:
Citat:
In my heart I still believe in miracles. God is the greatest magician of all. He Who turns an ugly caterpillar into a beautiful butterfly is surely capable of changing distaste and fear into love.
Tonight I'm prepared to go down on my knees, just as I used to do as a very small child, and offer up one last purely infantile bargain.
"Please, God, let her love me and I promise to be good forever. ..."
I could pray here, but I know it's no use, I might as well be in the lowest pit of hell. I'll never be heard down here. I have to get to the rooftops of Paris, close enough to touch the stars.
The statue of Apollo on the roof of the Opera House, ten stories above the level of the streets, is about as close as I can get to heaven now.
Surely He will hear me from there!