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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.
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
Nature
Abyss
Abysses
Better
Deceit
Vengeful
Self
Cruelty
Untold
Children
Subtle
Devour
Perceive
Perceives
Loves
Rip
Mother
Veils
Order
Refined
Rips
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In a secular age, an authentic miracle must purport to be a hoax, in order to gain credit in the world.
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A fairy tale is the kind of story in which one king goes to another king to borrow a cup of sugar
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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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I will tell you what Jeanne was like. She was like a piano in a country where everyone has had their hands cut off.
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Reciprocity of sensation is not possible because to share is to be robbed.
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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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I drew the curtains to conceal the sight of my father's farewell my spite was sharp as broken glass.
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I am entirely alone. I and my shadow fill the universe.
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It may be the first in what I trust will be a rapidly growing and influential genre--the novel designed on purpose to be excludedfrom the Booker short-list.
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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 wolf is carnivore incarnate and he's as cunning as he is ferocious once he's had a taste of flesh then nothing else will do.
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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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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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The notion of a universality of human experience is a confidence trick and the notion of a universality of female experience is a clever confidence trick.
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I desire therefore I exist.
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At the best of times, spring hurts depressives.
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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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Some cities are women and must be loved others are men and can only be admired or bargained with
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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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Not many people can boast a photo of their grandmother posing for kiddiporn.
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