Amélie:
It's better to help people than garden gnomes.

Georgette:
Vive la France.

Hipolito, The Writer:
Without you, today's emotions would be the scurf of yesterday's.

Amélie:
I am nobody's little weasel.

Narrator:
Amélie still seeks solitude. She amuses herself with silly questions about the world below, such as "How many people are having an orgasm right now?"

Amélie:
Fifteen.

The Sacré-Coeur Boy:
The fool looks at a finger that points at the sky.

Raymond Dufayel aka Glass Man:
So, my little Amélie, you don't have bones of glass. You can take life's knocks. If you let this chance pass, eventually, your heart will become as dry and brittle as my skeleton. So, go get him, for Pete's sake!

Narrator:
Amelie has one friend, Blubber. Alas the home environment has made Blubber suicidal.

Raymond Dufayel aka Glass Man:
You mean she would rather imagine herself relating to an absent person than build relationships with those around her?

Narrator:
With a prompter in every cellar window whispering comebacks, shy people would have the last laugh.

Amélie Poulain:
At least you'll never be a vegetable - even artichokes have hearts.

Hipolito (The Writer):
We pass the time of day to forget how time passes.

Suzanne, Owner Two Windmills bar:
I know. After 30 years behind a bar, I'm an expert. I'll even give you the recipe. Take two regulars, mix them together and let them stew. It never fails.

Bretodeau, The Box Man:
Time's funny. When you're a kid, it passes slowly, and next thing you're fifty and your childhood fits into a rusty little box.

Narrator:
On September 3rd 1973, at 6:28pm and 32 seconds, a bluebottle fly capable of 14,670 wing beats a minute landed on Rue St Vincent, Montmartre. At the same moment, on a restaurant terrace nearby, the wind magically made two glasses dance unseen on a tablecloth. Meanwhile, in a 5th-floor flat, 28 Avenue Trudaine, Paris 9, returning from his best friend's funeral, Eugène Colère erased his name from his address book. At the same moment, a sperm with one X chromosome, belonging to Raphaël Poulain, made a dash for an egg in his wife Amandine. Nine months later, Amélie Poulain was born.

Narrator:
September 28th 1997. It is exactly 11am. At the funfair, near the ghost train, the marshmallow twister is twisting. Meanwhile, on a bench in Villette Square, Félix Lerbier learns there are more links in his brain than atoms in the universe. Meanwhile, at the Sacré Coeur, the monks are practicing their backhand. The temperature is 24°C, humidity 70%, atmospheric pressure 999 millibars.

The Newsstand Woman:
A woman without love wilts like a flower without sun.

Man in photo:
She is in love.

Nino Quincampoix:
I don't even know her!

Man in photo:
Oh, you know her.

Nino Quincampoix:
Since when?

Man in photo:
Since always.

Man in photo:
In your dreams.

Amélie Poulain:
She doesn't relate to other people. She was always a lonely child.