[first sermon, written by Comte de Reynaud] Satan wears many guises. At times, he is the singer of a lurid song you hear on the radio. At times, the author of a salacious novel. The quiet man in the schoolyard, asking your children if he might join their game...and at times, the maker of sweet things, mere trifles, for what could seem more harmless, more innocent, than chocolate?
[Easter service, improvised] I'm not sure what the theme of my homily today ought to be. Do I want to speak of the miracle of Our Lord's divine transformation? Not really, no. I don't want to talk about His divinity. I'd rather talk about His humanity. I mean, you know, how He lived His life, here on Earth. His kindness, His tolerance... Listen, here's what I think. I think that we can't go around measuring our goodness by what we don't do. By what we deny ourselves, what we resist, and who we exclude. I think... we've got to measure goodness by what we embrace, what we create, and who we include.
[to Vianne] 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.
Storyteller: [first lines] Once upon a time, there was a quiet little village in the French countryside, whose people believed in Tranquilité - Tranquility. 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. 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] By someone else, next time.
Comte de Reynaud: [to Vianne] Let me try to put this into perspective for you. The first Comte de Reynaud expelled all the radical Huguenots in this village. You and your truffles present a far lesser challenge.