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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.
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
Faced
Lots
Whose
Somebody
Knowledge
Needs
Brush
Things
Brushes
Carpet
More quotes by Angela Carter
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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Anxiety is the beginning of conscience, which is the parent of the soul but is not compatible with innocence.
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Art need no longer be an account of past sensations.
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Home is where the heart is and hence a movable feast.
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The kind of power mothers have is enormous. Take the skyline of Istanbul - enormous breasts, pathetic little willies, a final revenge on Islam. I was so scared I had to crouch in the bottom of the boat when I saw it.
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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.
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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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The child's laughter is pure until he first laughs at a clown.
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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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Among the monsters, I am well hidden who looks for a leaf in a forest?
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A broken heart is never a tragedy. Only untimely death is a tragedy.
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Out of the frying pan into the fire! What is marriage but prostitution to one man instead of many? No different!
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The end of exile is the end of being.
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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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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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Sad so sad, those smoky-rose, smoky-mauve evenings of late Autumn, sad enough to pierce the heart.
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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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How far does a pretence of feeling, maintained with absolute conviction, become authentic?
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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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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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