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...
I hear she's an atheist.
I don't know.
I don't know.
Ein skulle tru eg hadde lært leksa mi, eg har ikkje tal på kor mange gonger eg har sett denne filmen sidan eg fyrst såg han på TV1000 for over ti år sidan, men endå ein gong sat eg i DVDen før eg kom på at det ikkje fanst spor av sjokolade i leilegheita. Det er like dumt gjort som å sjå Julie & Julia når ein er svolten (sjølv om ein er veganer). Men så kom den fine musikken på, den som minnar om ei blanding av Danny Elfman-musikken i Corpse Bride og Alan Menken-musikken i Beauty and the Beast, og med to store koppar te så gjekk det greitt likevel.
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.