Cecily: Arise fair sun, and kill the envious moon,
Who is already sick and pale under fucking rain clouds.
psychology
Cecily, to Ishmael.
Cecily: You are lucky you broke up in the spring. It’s a gentler time for the soul.
Cecily, on Wednesday night.
Cecily: Shakira and Beyoncé pulsed through the walls, and we gave ourselves up to translucent fabrics and hot nights with optional toplessness and mandatory thrusting.
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.
Alexander, on Portland.
Alexander: The weather here is as tepid as the people and it’s resettling me into my malaise.
Two friends, on Arrabbiata
Cecly: Raj drinks Coca Cola out of an old pasta sauce jar. In my mind, this is next level hipster. However, I doubt hipsters would deign to buy Prego® Arrabbiata.
Alexander: Oh, rest assured, my personal drinking cups are fashioned from non-GMO, organic, single-ingredient peanut butter jars. I sincerely wish I were joking.
Two friends, on art.
Cecily: Your art always has a peace to it. This seems at odds with your mental state at times.
Arnaud: My states of mind are the consequence of the gap between what I would like the world to be – peaceful, intelligent, etc. – and what it is in actuality.
Two friends, on the conventional.
Arnaud: Who is Lina?
Cecily: A good friend of mine.
Arnaud: I have seen her in photographs. She is extraordinarily gorgeous. Is she weird, or desperately conventional?
Two friends, on recourse.
Alexander: All male members of our race are DEAD TO ME.
Cecily: Your only recourse is to become a lesbian. Or a monk. Or both.
Alexander: I’ll be a lesbian insofar as I don’t have to see any tits.
thedailymails 