Alexander: Isn’t there something so much more romantic about getting hitched in a setting devoid of human touch — a place not shaped by anyone’s ideas and ideologies but your own? When you decide to let nature be your cathedral, your love becomes the architect.
Cecily: No! I want our relationship to be strong enough to blossom in reality — a reality shaped by previous architects and heavy expectations and other people’s disdain.
Alexander: I have realised recently that the vast majority of people one meets are simply stock characters in the grand scheme of life’s narrative. The only people worth holding on to are other “writers”. Nearly all of the people with whom I consort are plot devices, nothing more. So now I’m bingeing on Häagen-Dazs, drinking The Botanist out of the bottle, and watching Bridget Jones’ Diary.
Alexander: What I need is to return to Paris and find a husband.
Cecily: Paris is Paris. Even if you don’t find love, it’s the best place on earth to experience loneliness.
Alexander: I drank an ungodly amount of vodka last night. I fear the only way this hangover will be cured is via exorcism and therapy.
Alexander: Love is an illusion, death is inevitable.
Cecily: Love is not an illusion. Marriage is inevitable. I will be happy.
Alexander: The very existence of love, or indeed any sentiment, is questionable. Marriage is a social construct. Happiness is rampant hedonism.
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: I do not want to be Charles anymore.
Cecily: Charles has light and shade. Sometimes he’s so dryly drôle, at other times wracked with deep malaise, at other times, he simply makes dad jokes. You’re a universe. Don’t deny the world your universe. What does it matter if being Charles hurts you a little? You don’t keep long-term friendships anyway.
Elijah: Sometimes sadness makes me very unhappy.
Delilah: You seem slightly flattened.
Cecily: Flattened how? Empty? Somebody told me that the other day. I think I’m waiting for something exciting to happen and ruining other people’s exciting lives in the process. This is because I am a heartless succubus that enjoys sucking the life out of others for my personal pleasure.
Delilah: Jesus, I was just talking about your abs.
Cecily: How can you see my abs?
Delilah: That was a joke; a line to contrast the near tide of somewhat uncharacteristic personal revelation.
Delilah: According to my tutors, I’m a master of hermeneutically self-referential, overly encoded language.
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