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.

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.

Persons visited by the angel quiver with a thrill unknown to the rest of mankind

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

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.

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

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