Alexander: I helped multiple gorgeous Australian men at the boulangerie today. I don’t know how you ever left your motherland. Yours are a wonderful and lust-inspiring people.
carrie bradshaw
Two friends, on lipstick.
Cecily: Every one of my white clothes is now ruined thanks to a lipstick that weaselled its way into my washing machine.
Alexander: Was the lipstick at the very least Saint Laurent?
Alexander, on love and Portland.
Alexander: I think this is the death of me — falling in love with a man on the West Coast and relaxing further into the blissful black hole of soft drugs and rampant socially acceptable alcoholism that is Portland.
Alexander, on June.
Alexander: And my semi-obscure French word for June is rightfully, in my opinion anyway, “frisson”.
Cecily, on Nicolas.
Cecily: Why Nicolas, you’re looking incredibly Bogart today. You’re practically coffee stained and singed around the edges.
Cecily, on her work, her passion.
Cecily: I am a Creative Strategist. I may not save lives, but I sure as hell guarantee the emotional wellbeing of aesthetes.
Rahoul, on a female.
Rahoul: A female is in the place. She must be mounted.
Inès, on Tatiana.
Inès: You just have to meet Tatiana. She’s the kind of girl that wherever she goes, she has a birdbath full of blow.
Rahoul, the dragon.
Cecily: Annie may already be falling for you.
Rahoul: She has. What are you talking about? This is Rahoul; the dragon speaks, the lamb falls.
Cecily, on relative poverty.
Cecily: When I was poor in Paris, I couldn’t afford a Vogue magazine to feed me like Carrie Bradshaw. Instead, I took Übers.
thedailymails 