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?
relationship coach
Alexander, on flirtation via dogs.
Alexander: Small yet masculine dogs are an excellent conversation starter.
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.
Two friends, on weddings.
Cecily: Jonathan loves churches. If only we could have a non-denominational wedding in a Catholic cathedral. Or a mosque.
Alexander: Perhaps a nice, non-denominational meadow? I’m getting married in a whiskey library.
Two friends, on marriage on a cliff.
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.
Two friends, on hearts.
Cecily: You are wonderfully intelligent and kind and generous and wicked.
Arnaud: Thank you. That warms my cold heart.
Cecily: Your heart is not cold. You are simply delusional.
Arnaud, on pregnancy.
Arnaud: This afternoon, I will meet the girl in Bordeaux for whom my love is unrequited. She just told me that she is pregnant once again. I will binge-drink to celebrate it.
Maurice, on mental health.
Maurice: In 2003, they put me in a mental hospital and diagnosed me with bipolar. But I wouldn’t take their fucking meds. I’m proud to be bipolar!
Alexander, the Pacific Northwestern absurdist.
Alexander: Once I came to accept the meaningless nature of existence, it was much easier to take pleasure in simple things. Now I’m content to see everything as my inside joke and watch the world burn from the comfort of the Pacific Northwestern Void that is Portland.
Cecily, on a shoe.
Cecily: I threw one shoe off on the steps of the Sacre Cœur and left it there, a crazed contemporary Cinderella. I figured that by the time midnight hit, I’d have a prince and a roasted pumpkin in my oven and a quartet playing Corelli in my living room. I guess I didn’t read Grimm’s tale with enough scrutiny…
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