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One beast and only one howls in the woods by night.

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
Howls
Howl
Beast
Woods
Night

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That is what I'm looking forward to the most, practical learning. I want to be a registered nurse so getting to talk to people who already work in those jobs can really teach me what to expect when I get out in the real world.
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we must not blame our poor symbols if they take forms that seem trivial to us, or absurd, ... however paltry they may be the nature of our life alone has determined their forms.
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Mother goddesses are just as silly a notion as father gods. If a revival of the myths of these cults gives woman emotional satisfaction, it does so at the price of obscuring the real conditions of life. This is why they were invented in the first place.
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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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Not for Moorcock the painful, infrequent excretion of dry little novels like so many rabbit pellets his is the grand, messy fluxitself, in all its heroic vulgarity, its unquenchable optimism, its enthusiasm for the inexhaustible variousness of things.
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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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In the mythic schema of all relations between men and women, man proposes, and woman is disposed of.
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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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There is a striking resemblance between the act of love and the ministrations of a torturer.
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How far does a pretence of feeling, maintained with absolute conviction, become authentic?
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Comedy is tragedy that happens to other people.
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Pornography is a satire on human pretensions.
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Midnight, and the clock strikes. It is Christmas Day, the werewolves birthday, the door of the solstice still wide enough open to let them all slink through.
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Reading a book is like re-writing it for yourself.
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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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I am entirely alone. I and my shadow fill the universe.
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Our fingernails match our toenails, match our lipstick match our rouge...The habit of applying warpaint outlasts the battle.
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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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Drosselmeier had unwittingly exposed himself to an overdose of reality, and it had destroyed his reason.
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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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