Cecily: Why Nicolas, you’re looking incredibly Bogart today. You’re practically coffee stained and singed around the edges.
rich kids of paris
Two friends, on Tinder.
Arnaud: I won’t go back on Tinder. How could I say “Hi, I’m Arnaud. I see a psychiatrist and a magnetist !” ?
Cecily: Instead, tell everyone you see dead people. Way cooler. Vintage ’90s.
Jonathan, on Cecily.
Jonathan: I wonder if sometimes I am the mermaid and you are the argonaut.
Cecily, on her work, her passion.
Cecily: I am a Creative Strategist. I may not save lives, but I sure as hell guarantee the emotional wellbeing of aesthetes.
Cecily, on Parisian floods.
Cecily: Arise fair sun, and kill the envious moon,
Who is already sick and pale under fucking rain clouds.
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.
thedailymails 