Cecily: My darling, wrapped in white robes and white sheets and colourful dreams, I am one day closer to seeing you again.
writer
Two friends, on world domination.
Arnaud: The world is mine!
Cecily: I want Paris.
Arnaud: No.
Cecily: In that case, I’ll have to seize it by force or charm. I have all of the men of Paris on my side. What do you have? The female waitstaff of your favourite café?
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.
Two friends, on reputation.
Cecily: I looked for you today at your Couleur Café.
Arnaud: Couleur Café isn’t my café anymore. Some rumours about me were born in that hellish place.
Cecily: I have had many rumours spread about me throughout Paris. Lights, camera, scandal! In fact, the staff at Le Meurice told a man I was courting that I was a high class escort.
Arnaud: People!
Cecily: Well, it’s expected in Paris. I kill them with my kindness and my charm.
Arnaud: You should consider swords.
Cecily: Sometimes my kindness comes off too flirtatious though…
Arnaud: Oh, I see. “I am not a hooker. I would like you to invite me to Arpège for dinner to explain it all”.
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