“It’s not lying, it’s flirting.”
“It’s not a lie. It’s a gift for fiction.”
“I bet it’s easy for you,” Celeste said, as she examined her fingers and toes.“What? Flirting?” “Yes.” “Depends. There’s flirting,” Julie said, jokingly pushing her chest out, “and then there’s flirting.” She tapped the side of her temple. “It’s the second one that’s hard because you’re putting more of yourself out there.”
“Yeah, he’s just a huge flirt. He flirted with me, every female reporter within eyeshot, some of the men, and a pot plant on the way into his office. It’s pathological.”
“Lying is easy. But it’s lonely.”
“Travelling is like flirting with life. It’s like saying, I would stay and love you, but I have to go; this is my station.”