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Sad so sad, those smoky-rose, smoky-mauve evenings of late Autumn, sad enough to pierce the heart.

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
Heart
Pierce
Sad
Autumn
Evening
Sadness
Rose
Mauve
Late
Smoky
Enough
Evenings

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Sade has a curious ability to render every aspect of sexuality suspect, so that we see how the chaste kiss of the sentimental lover differs only in degree from the vampirish love-bite that draws blood, we understand that a disinterested caress is only quantitatively different from a disinterested flogging.
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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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Before he can become a wolf, the lycanthrope strips naked. If you spy a naked man among the pines, you must run as if the Devil were after you.
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Home is where the heart is and hence a movable feast.
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He is, I think, already pondering a magisterial project: that of buggering the English language, the ultimate revenge of the colonialised.
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She herself is a haunted house. She does not possess herself her ancestors sometimes come and peer out of the windows of her eyes and that is very frightening. from The Lady of the Haunted House
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As for my father, few souls are less troubled. He can be simply pleased with us, pleased that we exist, and, from the vantage point of his wondrously serene old age, he contemplates our lives almost as if they were books he can dip into whenever he wants. His back pages, perhaps.
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Nostalgia, the vice of the aged.
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If Miss means respectably unmarried, and Mrs. respectably married, then Ms. means nudge, nudge, wink, wink.
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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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One beast and only one howls in the woods by night.
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Hope for the best, expect the worst.
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Moonlight, white satin, roses. A bride.
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My paternal grandmother would not light a fire on the Sabbath and piled all Sunday's washing-up in a bucket, to be dealt with on Monday morning, because the Sabbath was a day of rest--a practice that made my paternal grandfather, the village atheist, as mad as fire. Nevertheless, he willed five quid to the minister, just to be on the safe side.
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It is far easier for a woman to lead a blameless life than it is for a man all she has to do is to avoid sexual intercourse like the plague.
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Love is desire sustained by unfulfilment.
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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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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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