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Losing their names, these things underwent a process of uncreation.
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
Losing
Names
Process
Things
Underwent
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They were connoisseurs of boredom. They savoured the various bouquets of the subtly differentiated boredoms which rose from the long, wasted hours at the dead end of night.
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Nostalgia, the vice of the aged. We watch so many old movies our memories come in monochrome.
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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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Those are the voices of my brothers, darling I love the company of wolves.
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Sade has a curious ability to render every aspect of sexuality suspect, so that we see how the chaste kiss of the sentimental lover differs only in degree from the vampirish love-bite that draws blood, we understand that a disinterested caress is only quantitatively different from a disinterested flogging.
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Moonlight, white satin, roses. A bride.
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For most of human history, 'literature,' both fiction and poetry, has been narrated, not written — heard, not read. So fairy tales, folk tales, stories from the oral tradition, are all of them the most vital connection we have with the imaginations of the ordinary men and women whose labor created our world.
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Comedy is tragedy that happens to other people.
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Hope for the best, expect the worst.
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Language is power, life and the instrument of culture, the instrument of domination and liberation.
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It shone on everyone, whether they had a contract or not. The most democratic thing I'd ever seen, that California sunshine.
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And each stroke of his tongue ripped off skin after successive skin, all the skins of a life in the world, and left behind a nascent patina of shining hairs. My earrings turned back to water and trickled down my shoulders I shrugged the drops off my beautiful fur.
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The kind of power mothers have is enormous. Take the skyline of Istanbul - enormous breasts, pathetic little willies, a final revenge on Islam. I was so scared I had to crouch in the bottom of the boat when I saw it.
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The invisible is only another unexplored country, a brave new world.
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For hours, for days, for years, she had wandered endlessly within herself but never met anybody, nobody.
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There is a striking resemblance between the act of love and the ministrations of a torturer.
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Aeneas carried his aged father on his back from the ruins of Troy and so do we all, whether we like it or not, perhaps even if we have never known them.
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Sad so sad, those smoky-rose, smoky-mauve evenings of late Autumn, sad enough to pierce the heart.
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Your thin white face, chérie he said, as if he saw it for the first time. Your thin white face, with its promise of debauchery only a connoisseur could detect.
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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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