Cecily: I was looking at wedding rings this morning.
Arnaud: Why?! Butterflies’ fingers are too thin for rings dear. You must be ill. Go and see a doctor.
Arnaud: I need you to give me a makeover.
Cecily: I am extremely expensive.
Arnaud: Perfect! I am very poor.
Cecily: I think we can come up with a solution. You be my Barbie doll. Do everything and wear everything I say. Then my services are free.
Arnaud: Deal.
Cecily: Beware, I used to pull the heads off Barbie dolls and cut their hair short, and once or twice I melted them in the microwave.
Arnaud: It all depends on the second Barbie doll you intend to melt me with.
Cecily: I have been invited to a Franco-Algerian wedding this Spring!
Jonathan: Will there be dates?
Cecily: Sweet ones, or the kind that wear suits?
Charles: Don’t you love to think about things at McDonald’s? Paris is a movable feast, just like the double cheeseburger.
Cecily: I have no sheep in my apartment.
Charles: Where do you get your wool from? How do you stay warm in the winter?
Cecily: Harrods’ cashmere.
Charles: But do your blankets and throws offer you unconditional love and, more importantly, loyalty?
Cecily: No, but my Italian greyhound does.
Cecily: My grandfather suggested carrots as a cure for insomnia, and it works for me.
Arnaud: I will try them tonight!
Cecily: To improve their efficacy, talk to the carrots while you’re cooking them, or sing. I believe they like folk.
Arnaud: They will have rock, but not The Smashing Pumpkins. That would offend them.
Cecily: I beg to differ. I think the carrots should be at war with the pumpkins. Pumpkins make a better purée and you’d better believe they make a better velouté.
Arnaud: You are a traffic light. If there were more traffic lights like you, road safety would dramatically increase. Cars would come to a standstill!
Cecily: If traffic lights sashayed around the streets with a complete disregard for cars, we’d all think we were living in Rome.
Alexander: I keep reexamining the words of old authors I love in the hope of finding some semblance of clarity and comfort in their familiarity; yet it’s all for naught, and my ongoing stare-down with the Void has become more treacherous than ever.
Charles: There is something very soothing about this escalator.
Cecily: At the end of a tough day, do you go up and down it and feel like you’re in a narrow, metallic womb? And is Freud’s escalator anything like Schrödinger’s box?
Charles: Well it’s certainly a space where there is only one logical direction and no choice. I think you’d quite benefit from Freud-Shrödinger’s escalator.
Delilah: You’re not as destructive as you think you are. You still have wild delusions about your own power. That’s the narcissism of youth. Guess you’re not as old as you thought you were.
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