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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.
In Paris, our lives are one masked ball;
you wish to live in peace, you must not begin by taking away my private box.
“He has a man’s voice, oh, such a lovely man’s voice!
She acted throughout as though she were no longer the mistress of her own destiny and as though she feared a fresh triumph.
Take my advice and be warned in time.
Carlotta had never forgiven Christine for the triumph
“She is singing to-night to bring the chandelier down!”
Nothing was colder than his heart, nothing half so dead: he had loved an angel and now he despised a woman!
“Fate links thee to me for ever and a day!”
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,
‘know that I am built up of death from head to foot and that it is a corpse that loves you and adores you and will never, never leave you! . . . Look, I am not laughing now, I am crying, crying for you, Christine, who have torn off my mask
