Gaston Leroux was born 6 May 1868, and died 15 April 1927.
- All I wanted was to be loved for myself.
- There are times where excessive innocence seems so monstrous that it becomes hateful.
- 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.
- An author really ought to have nothing but flowers in the room where he works.
- 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.
- 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.
- In Paris, our lives are one masked ball.
- 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.
- Everyone dies. I just choose the time and place for some of them!
Source for photograph
Unidentified photographer, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons
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