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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.

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
Faces
White
Debauchery
Firsts
Connoisseur
First
Detect
Time
Thin
Saws
Promise
Face

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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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A book is simply the container of an idea-like a bottle what is inside the book is what matters.
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What would the daughters of the rich do with themselves if the poor ceased to exist?
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She said to the Daisy girl with her big brown eyes: 'I will not have it plain. No. Fancy. It must be fancy!' She meant her future. A moon-daisy dropped to the floor, down from her hair, like a faintly derisive sign from heaven.
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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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Stars on our door, stars in our eyes, stars exploding in the bits of our brains where the common sense should have been
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There is a striking resemblance between the act of love and the ministrations of a torturer.
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You were the living image of the entire Platonic shadow show, an illusion that could fill my emptiness with marvellous, imaginary things as long as, just as long as, the movie lasted, and then all would all vanish.
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Love is desire sustained by unfulfilment.
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I think I want to be in love with you but I don't know how.
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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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One beast and only one howls in the woods by night.
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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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A young girl would go into the wood as trustingly as Red Riding Hood to her granny's house but this light admits no ambiguities and, here, she will be trapped in her own illusion because everything in the woods is exactly as it seems.
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Not many people can boast a photo of their grandmother posing for kiddiporn.
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To pin your hopes upon the future is to consign those hopes to a hypothesis, which is to say, a nothingness. Here and now is what we must contend with.
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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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I think it's one of the scars in our culture that we have too high an opinion of ourselves. We align ourselves with the angels instead of the higher primates.
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Your green eye is a reducing chamber. If I look into it long enough, I wil become as small as my own reflection, I will diminish to a point and vanish. I will be drawn down into that black whirlpool and be consumed by you. I shall become so small you can keep me in one of your osier cages and mock my loss of liberty.
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The kind of power mothers have is enormous.
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