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Nothing is a matter of life and death except life and death.
Angela Carter
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Angela Carter
Age: 51 †
Born: 1940
Born: May 7
Died: 1992
Died: February 16
Author
Journalist
Linguist
Novelist
Science Fiction Writer
Screenwriter
Translator
Writer
Eastbourne
Sussex
Angela Olive Stalker Carter
Angela Olive Carter
Angela Olive Stalker
Angela Olive Pearce
Life
Except
Literature
Death
Nothing
Matter
More quotes by Angela Carter
What would the daughters of the rich do with themselves if the poor ceased to exist?
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Home is where the heart is and hence a movable feast.
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I see her as a series of marvellous shapes formed at random in the kaleidoscope of desire.
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All artists, they say, are a little mad. This madness is, to a certain extent, a self-created myth designed to keep the generality away from the phenomenally close-knit creative community. Yet, in the world of the artists, the consciously eccentric are always respectful and admiring if those who have the courage to be genuinely a little mad.
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You were the living image of the entire Platonic shadow show, an illusion that could fill my emptiness with marvellous, imaginary things as long as, just as long as, the movie lasted, and then all would all vanish.
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Cats of all kinds weave in and out of the text Burroughs has clearly taken to them in a big way in his old age and seems torn between a fear they will betray him into sentimentality and a resigned acceptance that a man can't be ironic all the time.
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The kind of power mothers have is enormous.
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She said to the Daisy girl with her big brown eyes: 'I will not have it plain. No. Fancy. It must be fancy!' She meant her future. A moon-daisy dropped to the floor, down from her hair, like a faintly derisive sign from heaven.
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The lovely Hazard girls', they used to call them. Huh. Lovely is as lovely does if they looked like what they behave like, they'd frighten little children.
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Cities have sexes: London is a man, Paris a woman, and New York a well-adjusted transsexual.
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I think I want to be in love with you but I don't know how.
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Spindly branches of buttercups were secreted among gleaming stems still moist at the roots from last night's rain that had washedand refreshed the entire wood, had dowered it in poignant transparency, the unique, inconsolable quality of rainy countries, as if all was glimpsed through tears.
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Reading a book is like re-writing it for yourself.
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How far does a pretence of feeling, maintained with absolute conviction, become authentic?
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A young girl would go into the wood as trustingly as Red Riding Hood to her granny's house but this light admits no ambiguities and, here, she will be trapped in her own illusion because everything in the woods is exactly as it seems.
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Before he can become a wolf, the lycanthrope strips naked. If you spy a naked man among the pines, you must run as if the Devil were after you.
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Out of the frying pan into the fire! What is marriage but prostitution to one man instead of many? No different!
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In the mythic schema of all relations between men and women, man proposes, and woman is disposed of.
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This lack of imagination gives his heroism to the hero.
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Anxiety is the beginning of conscience, which is the parent of the soul but is not compatible with innocence.
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