Is also great
And
would suffice.
Could he truly live with only a heart? He saw the bitter irony: the man who had always been the tool of hate was killed by his own weapon. He was a monster. Who could love a monster? Do wild murderous beasts truly need life? If they died, would anyone care? No was the answer Erik knew was right. Until Christine, he had not known love. Since Christine, he finally understood that without love, life was nothing. He started to reach for the knife, but instead went for the pistol. The cold weapon smelled of hate, of lies and deceit, of treachery and betrayal. It was so perfect for him, he thought, as he pulled the trigger.