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I drew the curtains to conceal the sight of my father's farewell my spite was sharp as broken glass.

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
Glass
Spite
Glasses
Sight
Conceal
Broken
Drew
Father
Farewell
Curtains
Sharp

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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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I don't really think that writers, even great writers, are prophets, or sages, or Messiah-like figures writing is a lonely, sedentary occupation and a touch of megalomania can be comforting around five on a November afternoon when you haven't seen anybody all day.
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The one-eyed man will be King in the country of the blind only if he arrives there in full possession of his partial faculties--that is, providing he is perfectly aware of the precise nature of sight and does not confuse it with second sightnor with madness.
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I haven't changed much, over the years. I use less adjectives, now, and have a kinder heart, perhaps.
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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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Home is where the heart is and hence a movable feast.
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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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Just because we're sisters under the skin doesn't mean we've got much in common.
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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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What would the daughters of the rich do with themselves if the poor ceased to exist?
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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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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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My paternal grandmother would not light a fire on the Sabbath and piled all Sunday's washing-up in a bucket, to be dealt with on Monday morning, because the Sabbath was a day of rest--a practice that made my paternal grandfather, the village atheist, as mad as fire. Nevertheless, he willed five quid to the minister, just to be on the safe side.
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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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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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