It is hard being a football loather, a football unfan. I sometimes feel as lonely as the sole survivor in the last reel of a Zombie film, as, one by one, old friends reveal themselves, with their glassy stares and outstretched arms, to have succumbed to the lure.
The coming and going of the seasons give us more than the springtimes, summers, autumns, and winters of our lives. It reflects the coming and going of the circumstances of our lives like the glassy surface of a pond that shows our faces radiant with joy or contorted with pain.
Christine: I remember... there was mist. Swirling mist upon a vast glassy lake... There were candles all around, and on the lake there was a boat... And in the boat, there was a man.
[walks over to the Phantom, at his organ]
Christine: Who was that shape in the shadows? Whose is that face in the mask?
[touches his face and rips of mask]
The Phantom: [covers face] Damn you! You little prying Pandora! You little demon! Is this what you wanted to see? Curse you! You little lying Delilah! You little *viper*! Now you cannot ever be free! Damn you! Curse you!
[now sad]
The Phantom: Stranger than you dreamt it, can you even bear to look, or dare to think of me?... This lonesome gargoyle
who burns in hell but secretly yearns for heaven secretly, secretly but Christine... fear can turn to love you'll learn to see to find the man behind the monster this... repulsive carcass that seems a beast but secretly dreams of beauty secretly, secretly...
[crying]
The Phantom: Oh, Christine.
[Christine hands him the mask]
The
Phantom: Come. We must return. Those two fools who run my theater will be missing you.