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He was a lovely man in many ways. But he kept on insisting on forgiving me when there was nothing to forgive.

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
Forgiving
Lovely
Kept
Ways
Nothing
Many
Way
Insisting
Men
Forgive

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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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His main principles were indeed as follows: everything it is possible to imagine can also exist.
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There are lots of things that you can brush under the carpet about yourself until you're faced with somebody whose needs won't be put off.
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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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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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Losing their names, these things underwent a process of uncreation.
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Not many people can boast a photo of their grandmother posing for kiddiporn.
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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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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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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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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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There is a striking resemblance between the act of love and the ministrations of a torturer.
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A fairy tale is the kind of story in which one king goes to another king to borrow a cup of sugar
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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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Hope for the best, expect the worst.
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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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Some cities are women and must be loved others are men and can only be admired or bargained with
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