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Drosselmeier had unwittingly exposed himself to an overdose of reality, and it had destroyed his reason.

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
Exposed
Destroyed
Reality
Reason
Unwittingly
Overdose
Surrealism

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What would the daughters of the rich do with themselves if the poor ceased to exist?
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And each stroke of his tongue ripped off skin after successive skin, all the skins of a life in the world, and left behind a nascent patina of shining hairs. My earrings turned back to water and trickled down my shoulders I shrugged the drops off my beautiful fur.
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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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Hollywood... was the place where the United States perpetrated itself as a universal dream and put the dream into mass production.
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I drew the curtains to conceal the sight of my father's farewell my spite was sharp as broken glass.
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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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I see her as a series of marvellous shapes formed at random in the kaleidoscope of desire.
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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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Is not this world an illusion? And yet it fools everybody.
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The end of all stories, even if the writer forebears to mention it, is death, which is where time stops short. Sheherezade knew this, which is why she kept on spinning another story out of the bowels of the last one, never coming to a point where she could say: This is the end. Because it would have been.
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Women's sexy underwear is a minor but significant growth industry of late-twentieth-century Britain in the twilight of capitalism.
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She stands and moves within the invisible pentacle of her own virginity. She is an unbroken egg: she is a sealed vessel she has inside her a magic space the entrance to which is shut tight with a plug of membrane she is a closed system she does not know how to shiver.
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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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The invisible is only another unexplored country, a brave new world.
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The end of exile is the end of being.
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Love is desire sustained by unfulfilment.
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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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Sad so sad, those smoky-rose, smoky-mauve evenings of late Autumn, sad enough to pierce the heart.
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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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How far does a pretence of feeling, maintained with absolute conviction, become authentic?
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