Cecily: Just one day, I want to be on the train to Inverness and catch a man’s eye. We’d fall easily into a Lady Macbeth and Macbeth kind of love.
writer
Cecily, on writing.
Cecily: I want to write postcards, not extended literature!
Two friends, on gardens.
Cecily: Kipling once wrote, “Gardens are not made by singing ‘Oh, how beautiful’, and sitting in the shade”.
Ishmael: I like that. How can I use it?
Cecily: Well, for me it means something about embracing motivated change in all forms. Making active decisions. Never getting complacent. We grow our gardens — alone or with others — and some seasons are made for poppies and others for Japanese maples and others for stones or sand to be tilled gently.
Ishmael: That’s beautiful.
Cecily: It’s beautiful or it’s trite. But sometimes there is beauty in the trite.
Three friends, on Carlo.
Maurice: Does Count Carlo have a passion?
Cecily: He enjoys art.
Raj: And women.
Maurice: And food!
Cecily: He’s Italian.
Cecily, to Alexander.
Cecily: I like your sweater. It says “I’m-Yves-Saint-Laurent-chilling-out-at-home-after-a-psychotic-episode”-chic.
Cecily, on long-distance love.
Cecily: I know that when we’re together I try to cherish every moment, but when we’re apart, I count the minutes I didn’t spend touching your face.
Cecily, on mediocrity.
Cecily: I do not wish to mellow out in my own mediocrity, and I certainly won’t be accepting yours.
Cecily, on body and lobster issues.
Cecily: Raj just called me fat. I only ate one single lobster…
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.
Alexander, on himself.
Alexander: I am watching Annie Hall and just realised the book on which I rolled a joint is Still Life with Woodpecker. I have fallen so deeply into my own stereotype that it’s no longer funny.
thedailymails 