Cecily: Paris is not the city of lights, but the city of men. The streets crawl with both fine specimens of the race and skew-whiff tripod-like creatures, relentlessly parading through the streets with their cocks to the sky.
conversations
Cecily, on a French man by the fountain.
Cecily: His legs were crossed and his pant leg skimmed just above his sock, exposing a little rectangle of skin. Apart from this, he was wrapped in black. It was extremity erotica. He was a geisha.
Cecily, on immorality.
Cecily: There is nothing more immoral than putting a bunny in a dryer.
Pedro, on Cecily’s needs.
Pedro: A queen like you has much more use for a dragon than a boyfriend.
Pedro, on Cecily’s potential husband.
Pedro: It would not be fair for you to have a husband. Think about all the others left without a muse for their poor souls.
Carlo, on love.
Carlo: Remember, if you think you are in love Cecily, a butterfly cannot suddenly turn into a snail.
Two friends, on the virtues of wine.
Cecily: Jesus converted water into wine!
Arnaud: And did he drink it?
Two friends, on waving.
Cecily: I know exactly how to wave like the Queen!
Raj: Queen Elizabeth II is not a Vulcan.
Charles, on the terrace.
Charles: Our firm is forced to offer good pay and favourable working conditions; our rooftop terrace is rather easy to leap off.
Two friends, on the doctor.
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.
Cecily: I need a ring. What if I get old and nobody loves me enough to keep me company, and all I have left is old copies of Vogue magazine and thoughts about what could have been if I had shared my life with somebody? Maybe the doctor will marry me…
thedailymails 