Quote

I had the brief notion that his heart, pressed flat as a flower, crimson and thin as tissue paper, lay in this file. It was a very thin one.

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
Lays
File
Notion
Tissues
Pressed
Flower
Files
Paper
Brief
Heart
Flat
Flats
Tissue
Thin
Crimson

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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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The bed is now as public as the dinner table and governed by the same rules of formal confrontation.
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I know that whenever a group of women are gathered together, the grandmother always makes a phantom appearance, hovering above them.
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A mother is always a mother, since a mother is a biological fact, whilst a father is a movable feast.
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Your thin white face, chérie he said, as if he saw it for the first time. Your thin white face, with its promise of debauchery only a connoisseur could detect.
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It is, perhaps, a better thing to be valued only as an object of passion than never to be valued at all.
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I am entirely alone. I and my shadow fill the universe.
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One day, Annabel saw the sun and moon in the sky at the same time. The sight filled her with a terror which entirely consumed her and did not leave her until the night closed in catastrophe for she had no instinct for self-preservation if she was confronted by ambiguities.
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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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There was a house we all had in common and it was called the past, even though we'd lived in different rooms.
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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 a secular age, an authentic miracle must purport to be a hoax, in order to gain credit in the world.
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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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Our fingernails match our toenails, match our lipstick match our rouge...The habit of applying warpaint outlasts the battle.
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Language is power, life and the instrument of culture, the instrument of domination and liberation.
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All artists, they say, are a little mad. This madness is, to a certain extent, a self-created myth designed to keep the generality away from the phenomenally close-knit creative community. Yet, in the world of the artists, the consciously eccentric are always respectful and admiring if those who have the courage to be genuinely a little mad.
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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.
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