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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
Underwent
Losing
Names
Process
Things

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The bed is now as public as the dinner table and governed by the same rules of formal confrontation.
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Hope for the best, expect the worst.
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Vengeful as nature herself, she loves her children only in order to devour them better and if she herself rips her own veils of self-deceit, Mother perceives in herself untold abysses of cruelty as subtle as it is refined.
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I know that whenever a group of women are gathered together, the grandmother always makes a phantom appearance, hovering above them.
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Irish was a man of parts even if some of them didn't work too well.
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Pornographers are the enemies of women only because our contemporary ideology of pornography does not encompass the possibility of change, as if we were the slaves of history and not its makers. . . . Pornography is a satire on human pretensions.
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[T]ea, that uniquely English meal, that unnecessary collation at which no stimulants--neither alcohol nor meat--are served, that comforting repast of which to partake is as good as second childhood.
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What a joy it is to dance and sing!
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He is, I think, already pondering a magisterial project: that of buggering the English language, the ultimate revenge of the colonialised.
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As for my father, few souls are less troubled. He can be simply pleased with us, pleased that we exist, and, from the vantage point of his wondrously serene old age, he contemplates our lives almost as if they were books he can dip into whenever he wants. His back pages, perhaps.
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She stands and moves within the invisible pentacle of her own virginity. She is an unbroken egg: she is a sealed vessel she has inside her a magic space the entrance to which is shut tight with a plug of membrane she is a closed system she does not know how to shiver.
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A day without an argument is like an egg without salt.
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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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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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I drew the curtains to conceal the sight of my father's farewell my spite was sharp as broken glass.
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The invisible is only another unexplored country, a brave new world.
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She stood lost in eternity wearing a crazy dress, watching the immense sky.
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Reading a book is like re-writing it for yourself. You bring to a novel, anything you read, all your experience of the world. You bring your history and you read it in your own terms.
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And, oh God, in my misspent youth as a housewife, I, too, used to bake bread, in those hectic and desolating days just prior to the woman's movement, when middle-class women were supposed to be wonderful wives and mothers, gracious hostesses.... I used to feel so womanly when I was baking my filthy bread.
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