Journal d'un curé de campagne

Curé de Torcy:
Make order. Make order all day long. Make order while thinking that disorder will take over the following day, because it is precisely within order, unfortunately, that the night will blow away yesterday's work.

Curé d'Ambricourt:
Our hidden sins poison the air that others breathe.

Cur? de Torcy:
Make order. Make order all day long. Make order while thinking that disorder will take over the following day, because it is precisely within order, unfortunately, that the night will blow away yesterday's work.

Cur? d'Ambricourt:
Our hidden sins poison the air that others breathe.

Cur? d'Ambricourt:
All is grace.

Cur? d'Ambricourt:
The simplest tasks are by no means the easiest.

[subtitled version]

Countess:
Love is stronger than death. Your scriptures say so.

Cur? d'Ambricourt:
We did not invent love. It has its order, its law.

Countess:
God is its master.

Cur? d'Ambricourt:
He is not the master of love. He is love itself. If you would love, don't place yourself beyond love's reach.

Cur? d'Ambricourt:
I was so disappointed I had to lean against the wall.

Cur? d'Ambricourt:
I said to her, "Peace be with you," and she'd received that peace on her knees. What wonder, that one can give what one doesn't possess! Oh, miracle of our empty hands!