It's weird, life.

When you're a kid, time creeps slowly and then one day, you're . And childhood, whatever's left of it, fits into a little rusty box.

You don't have children yet, do you, miss?

I have a daughter. She must be about your age. We haven't spoken to each other for years now. I heard she has a child, a little boy. His name is Lucas. It's about time I went to pay them a visit before I end up in a box myself. Don't you think?

-Amélie suddenly feels in perfect harmony with herself. everything's perfect: the softness of the light, that little scent in the air, the peaceful sounds of the city.

Life seems so simple and cristal-clear that she's swept by this desire to help the all mankind.

-I'll help you. We go down and there we go!

There's the widow of the drummer of the brass band. Hey, the horse's lost one ear!

The husband of florist is laughing. There's lollipops in the shop window! Can you smell his scent? This man is offering melon to his clients to taste. There, they make wonderful ice-cream! We're passing in front of the butcher's. Ham on the bone costs ! Here we're at the cheese merchant's .

Here you are, now we're at the metro station.

I'll leave you here, goodbye.

"She was never able to enter into relationships with others ."

"As a kid, she was always on her own."

On the evening of a bright day in July, while holiday-makers enjoy themselves on the beach in the carefreeness of the sunny days and while in Paris, the strollers, overcome by the heat gaze at the trails of smoke of the fireworks, Amélie Poulain, also known as "the godmother of the rejected", or "the madonna of the cast-offs" succumbs to exhaustion. In the streets of Paris, struck with grief, millions of mourning anonyms gather for the funeral cortège to show in silence their great sorrow of being forever orphans. What a strange fate, that of this young woman deprived of herself, yet so sensitive to the charm of the little things in life. Like Don Quichotte, she was determined to grapple the unforgiving grinder of all the human sorrows.

An impossible fight that consumed her life prematurely. At Amélie Poulain let her life deteriorate in the swirls of universal pain. And there she was struck by the regret of having let her father die, without ever being able to give back to this suffocated man the breath of air she'd been able to give to so many others.