Serge: We are still married, in the eyes of God.
Josephine: Then He must be blind.
Roux: I thought you'd never guess. My favourite - hot chocolate.
Luc Clairmont: Happy birthday, Grandmama.
Armande Voizin: The invitation said five o'clock.
Luc Clairmont: I should have read it more closely.
Armande Voizin: If you had, you would know there were supposed to be no gifts.
Luc Clairmont: Don't worry so much about supposed to.
Roux: I should probably warn ya: you make friends with us, you make enemies with everyone else.
Vianne Rocher: Is that a promise?
Roux: It's a guarantee.
[first lines]
Storyteller: Once upon a time, there was a quiet little village in the French countryside, whose people believed in Tranquilité - Tranquility.
[Sunday morning congregation sings]
Storyteller: If you lived in this village, you understood what was expected of you. You knew your place in the scheme of things. And if you happened to
forget, someone would help remind you.
[wife kicks sleeping husband in pew]
Father Henri: The season of Lent is upon us. This is of course a time of abstinence. Hopefully also it's a time of reflection. Above all let this be for us a time... a time of sincere penitence. It is a time to stand up and be counted...
Storyteller: In this village,
if you saw something you weren't supposed to see, you learned to look the other way. If perchance your hopes had been disappointed, you learned never to ask for more. So, through good times and bad, famine and feast, the villagers held fast to their traditions. Until, one winter day, a sly wind blew in from the North...
Storyteller: But still the clever north wind was not satisfied. It spoke to Vianne of towns yet to be visited, friends in need yet to be discovered, battles yet to be fought...
[Vianne throws her mother's ashes to the wind]
Storyteller: ...By someone else, next time.
Luc Clairmont: [at confession] Each time I tell myself it's the last time, but then I get a whiff of her hot chocolate, or...
Madame Audel: ...Seashells. Chocolate seashells, so small, so plain, so *innocent*. I thought, oh, just one little taste, it can't do any harm. But it turned out they were filled with rich, sinful...
Yvette
Marceau: ...And it *melts*, God forgive me, it melts ever so slowly on your tongue, and tortures you with pleasure.
Comte de Reynaud: Rumor has it you are harbouring Madame Muscat. Is that true?
Vianne Rocher: You make her sound like a fugitive.
Comte de Reynaud: She *is* a fugitive. From her marriage vows, which have been sanctified by God.
Vianne Rocher: Joséphine? Come out here a minute. Let His Radiance have a look at
you, hm?
[shows the Comte the ugly bruise on Joséphine's forehead]
Vianne Rocher: Is that sanctified enough for you? It's not the first time.
Comte de Reynaud: I am truly sorry. You should have come to me. Your husband will be made to repent for this.
Josephine: Tell him to repent on someone else's head.
Josephine: You don't misbehave here. It's just not done, did you know that? If you don't go to confession, if you don't... dig your flowerbeds, or if you don't pretend, if you don't pretend... that you want nothing more in your life than to serve your husband three meals a day, and give him children, and vacuum under his ass, then... then you're... then you're crazy.