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The bed is now as public as the dinner table and governed by the same rules of formal confrontation.
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
Tables
Bed
Dinner
Rules
Public
Confrontation
Sleep
Governed
Formal
Table
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For hours, for days, for years, she had wandered endlessly within herself but never met anybody, nobody.
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The one-eyed man will be King in the country of the blind only if he arrives there in full possession of his partial faculties--that is, providing he is perfectly aware of the precise nature of sight and does not confuse it with second sightnor with madness.
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Soon, nostalgia will be another name for Europe.
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We must all make do with the rags of love we find flapping on the scarecrow of humanity.
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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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In the mythic schema of all relations between men and women, man proposes, and woman is disposed of.
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I should have liked to have had him beside me in a glass coffin, so that I could watch him all the time and he would not have been able to get away from me.
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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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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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I see her as a series of marvellous shapes formed at random in the kaleidoscope of desire.
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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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We do not go to bed in single pairs even if we choose not to refer to them, we still drag there with us the cultural impedimenta of our social class, our parents' lives, our bank balances, our sexual and emotional expectations, our whole biographies-all the bits and pieces of our unique existences.
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Vengeful as nature herself, she loves her children only in order to devour them better and if she herself rips her own veils of self-deceit, Mother perceives in herself untold abysses of cruelty as subtle as it is refined.
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Not many people can boast a photo of their grandmother posing for kiddiporn.
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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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I haven't changed much, over the years. I use less adjectives, now, and have a kinder heart, perhaps.
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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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How far does a pretence of feeling, maintained with absolute conviction, become authentic?
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