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I am entirely alone. I and my shadow fill the universe.

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
Fill
Entirely
Shadow
Alone
Universe

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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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Drosselmeier had unwittingly exposed himself to an overdose of reality, and it had destroyed his reason.
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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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A book is simply the container of an idea-like a bottle what is inside the book is what matters.
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ordered me a sky from a florist
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Fine art, that exists for itself alone, is art in a final state of impotence. If nobody, including the artist, acknowledges art as a means of knowing the world, then art is relegated to a kind of rumpus room of the mind and the irresponsibility of the artist and the irrelevance of art to actual living becomes part and parcel of the practice of art.
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Why do you do up your hair in those tortured plaits, now, Melanie? Why? Because, she said. You know that's no answer. You're spoiling your pretty looks, pet. Come here. She did not move. He ground out his cigarette on the window-ledge and laughed. Come here, he said again, softly. So she went.
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Nostalgia, the vice of the aged.
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Losing their names, these things underwent a process of uncreation.
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One beast and only one howls in the woods by night.
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I think it's one of the scars in our culture that we have too high an opinion of ourselves. We align ourselves with the angels instead of the higher primates.
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He is the intermediary between us, his audience, the living, and they, the dolls, the undead, who cannot live at all and yet who mimic the living in every detail since, though they cannot speak or weep, still they project those signals of signification we instantly recognize as language.
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The end of all stories, even if the writer forebears to mention it, is death, which is where time stops short. Sheherezade knew this, which is why she kept on spinning another story out of the bowels of the last one, never coming to a point where she could say: This is the end. Because it would have been.
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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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I will tell you what Jeanne was like. She was like a piano in a country where everyone has had their hands cut off.
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Anticipation is the greater part of pleasure.
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The wolf is carnivore incarnate and he's as cunning as he is ferocious once he's had a taste of flesh then nothing else will do.
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Those are the voices of my brothers, darling I love the company of wolves.
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The notion of a universality of human experience is a confidence trick and the notion of a universality of female experience is a clever confidence trick.
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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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