Cecily: It’s so easy to find gifts for women… A small bracelet, a petite pair of earrings, a little bunch of flowers…
Carlo: A medium-sized bank account…
symonne torpy
Alexander, on stock characters.
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.
Cecily, on herself.
Cecily: Horizontal mobility would suit me just as well as upward mobility in this life. I have already reached a level of refinement and class unrivalled, and now I seek to enrich my experience, broadly and without apology.
Two friends, waiting by the phone.
Cecily: You offended the hell out of her. Why do you think she is going to call you back?
Maurice: Because I believe in miracles.
Two friends, on Paris.
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.
Cecily, having a midnight dilemma.
Cecily: I am desperately in need of a midnight snack, but a) I don’t want to get fat, b) I don’t want to get up, and c) I don’t even know if I got up whether there would be anything to get fat with.
Alexander, on vodka.
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.
Cecily, on “Frederic”.
Cecily: We called him Frederic for two hours before we realised that it was not his name. A twenty two year-old comedian with a provincial French accent, he slithered up to us when we were all eyes-peeled for benefactors, and poised to target men with Berlutti shoes. I use the word “slithered” a little callously. But slippery, young, money-hungry women look more like goddesses than snakes, and poor French boys looking for a little love lust can at times be scrawny and clothed in snake green. Frederic was.
Cecily, on coffee.
Cecily: I only take my coffee “allongé”. It’s the only way to properly stoke malaise.
Two friends, on love.
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.
thedailymails 