Quote

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.

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
Enough
Strikes
Christmas
Slink
Wide
Solstice
Door
Werewolves
Doors
Werewolf
Open
Midnight
Stills
Birthday
Still
Clock

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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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Though I still turn up my coat-collar in a lonely way and am always looking at myself in mirrors, they’re only habits and give no clue at all to my character, whatever that is. The most difficult performance in the world is acting naturally isn’t it? Everything else is artful.
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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 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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I haven't changed much, over the years. I use less adjectives, now, and have a kinder heart, perhaps.
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Home is where the heart is and hence a movable feast.
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I think the adjective post-modernist really means mannerist. Books about books is fun but frivolous.
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In a world where women are commodities, a woman who refuses to sell herself will have the thing she refuses to sell taken away from her by force
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My mother learned that she was carrying me at about the same time the Second World War was declared with the family talent for magic realism, she once told me she had been to the doctor's on the very day.
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If Miss means respectably unmarried, and Mrs. respectably married, then Ms. means nudge, nudge, wink, wink.
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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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Pornography is a satire on human pretensions.
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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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In the mythic schema of all relations between men and women, man proposes, and woman is disposed of.
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Moonlight, white satin, roses. A bride.
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She stood lost in eternity wearing a crazy dress, watching the immense sky.
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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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A day without an argument is like an egg without salt.
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Proposition one: time is a man, space is a woman.
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