Cecily: At least your parents know who you are.
Alexander: They’re from Texas. They have no clue how to handle the malaise-riddled, bilingual, gender non-binary gay man that shares their genetics. They’d die of aneurysms if they met the people with whom I keep company: charlatans, musicians, career hedonists, trust fund druggies, and the older men with whom I seek to fill my paternal void (usually via sex and misplaced feelings).
Cecily: I’m in the “get fit” zone in preparation for the eventual “wedding zone”.
Felicia: What does that involve?
Cecily: My wedding? Vows and a white dress and great catering.
Cecily: Sincerely, I just cried over my gravlax.
Cecily: I will never record my voice because I sound like a muppet.
Ishmael: Is this secretly because you are actually a muppet?
Cecily: Stars are the part of the sky that glitter remembered.
Carlo: People who are in love are always right.
Cecily: Paris is not the city of lights, but the city of men. The streets crawl with both fine specimens of the race and skew-whiff tripod-like creatures, relentlessly parading through the streets with their cocks to the sky.
Cecily: His legs were crossed and his pant leg skimmed just above his sock, exposing a little rectangle of skin. Apart from this, he was wrapped in black. It was extremity erotica. He was a geisha.
Pedro: A queen like you has much more use for a dragon than a boyfriend.
Pedro: It would not be fair for you to have a husband. Think about all the others left without a muse for their poor souls.
thedailymails 