Gina: Absence makes.
Nino Quincampoix: ...the heart grow fonder.
Hipolito, The Writer: Without you, today's emotions would be the scurf of yesterday's.
Hipolito (The Writer): We pass the time of day to forget how time passes.
Narrator: Amelie has a strange feeling of absolute harmony. It's a perfect moment. A soft light, a scent in the air, the quiet murmur of the city. A surge of love, an urge to help mankind overcomes her.
Narrator: Philoméne likes the sound of the cat's bowl on the tiles. The cat likes overhearing children's stories.
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.
Amélie Poulain: She doesn't relate to other people. She was always a lonely child.
The Sacré-Coeur Boy: The fool looks at a finger that points at the sky.
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.
Old Man at the Two Windmills: Still, true love does exist.
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.
Joseph: Cram it, failure.
Hipolito, The Writer: Failed writer, failed life... I love the word "fail." Failure is human destiny.
Joseph: It's gasbag time.
Hipolito, The Writer: Failure teaches us that life is but a draft, a long rehearsal for a show that will never play.
Joseph: I bet he stole that.
Hipolito, The Writer: I do have some original ideas, but people always steal them.
Hipolito, The Writer: Same as your women.
Hipolito, The Writer: You'd better get used to it.
Bretodeau, The Box Man: Life's funny. To a kid, time always drags. Suddenly you're fifty. All that's left of your childhood... fits in a rusty little box.
Amélie: It's better to help people than garden gnomes.
Amélie: I am nobody's little weasel.