Cecily: Mr. Right is always right for a few weeks. Right now there are four Mr. Not-quite-right-but-good-for-winter-nights types.
romance
Two friends, on gifts.
Charles: Has my parcel arrived?
Cecily: It has not. Believe me, when it does, you will know about it. I will be so excited.
Charles: But you don’t even know what it is yet.
Cecily: I assume you only ever gift great books and letters.
Charles: Not untrue.
Two friends, on writing.
Cecily: I write contemporary, condensed, flash autobiography.
Jean-Claude: You mean you’re on Twitter.
Noah, on Cecily’s head.
Noah: Do you always wear something on your head? What does Freud have to say about that?
Two friends, after New Year’s Eve.
Cecily: One day, someone will write about the grand explosion that was yesterday. Perhaps it was not so much an explosion as a type of cold war. I kissed Nino. Yves walked in and saw us. Jonathan wanted to beat Yves to a bloody pulp. Augustin pontificated about the fact that none of the others were good enough to receive the love of half the tip of my little finger. All of them confessed their undying love for me.
Alexander: Queen.
Two friends, on modern romance.
Nigel: I am not sure flaneurs or flaneuses would ever meet on Tinder.
Cecily: Don’t be so pretentious that you can’t be open to modern first meetings and classically romantic evolutions thereafter.
Two creatives, on writing.
Xavier: I’m writing a play and I don’t like it yet.
Cecily: I’m writing a life, and I’m starting to dread the next plot twist.
Alexander, on the Côte d’Azur.
Alexander: I doubt anyone with an IQ that qualifies them as even marginally better than brain dead could find happiness in the Côte d’Azur.
Two friends, on loving once.
Nino: I should not have hesitated with you.
Cecily: We weren’t right to be together forever. You know it. But we will always be something special. You know that too.
Nino: What do you think could have been wrong?
Cecily: We’re maybe both butterflies. And we seek plants to settle with. Not other butterflies.
Cecily, a Christmas story.
Cecily: I wanted a toy unicorn. I had an inside joke about one with my lover Yves, and I wanted to give the unicorn to him for Christmas. I announced my desire to find one rather publicly. Jonathan loved me so much he haunted every shop in Paris on Christmas Eve to find me that unicorn. He didn’t know why I wanted it, just that he could give me something I wanted, and that he could make me smile.
He found that unicorn and bought it for me for Christmas. It showed up under my tree all glittering and shining via beautiful guilt-laced adoration. And now I have it. And it was always intended for Yves.
thedailymails 