Angela Carter Quotes - Page 4

She said to the Daisy girl with her big brown eyes: 'I will not have it plain. No. Fancy. It must be fancy!' She meant her future. A moon-daisy dropped to the floor, down from her hair, like a faintly derisive sign from heaven.

Hope for the best, expect the worst.

One beast and only one howls in the woods by night.

This lack of imagination gives his heroism to the hero.

Comedy is tragedy that happens to other people.

Art need no longer be an account of past sensations.

I think I want to be in love with you but I don't know how.

His main principles were indeed as follows: everything it is possible to imagine can also exist.

Losing their names, these things underwent a process of uncreation.

[T]ea, that uniquely English meal, that unnecessary collation at which no stimulants--neither alcohol nor meat--are served, that comforting repast of which to partake is as good as second childhood.

I see her as a series of marvellous shapes formed at random in the kaleidoscope of desire.

I drew the curtains to conceal the sight of my father's farewell; my spite was sharp as broken glass.

The only time I ever iron the sheets or make meringues is when there is an ... urgent deadline in the offing.

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.

Strangers used to gather together at the cinema and sit together in the dark, like Ancient Greeks participating in the mysteries, dreaming the same dream in unison.

Among the monsters, I am well hidden; who looks for a leaf in a forest?

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.

Not many people can boast a photo of their grandmother posing for kiddiporn.

They were connoisseurs of boredom. They savoured the various bouquets of the subtly differentiated boredoms which rose from the long, wasted hours at the dead end of night.

Just because we're sisters under the skin doesn't mean we've got much in common.

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.

Spindly branches of buttercups were secreted among gleaming stems still moist at the roots from last night's rain that had washedand refreshed the entire wood, had dowered it in poignant transparency, the unique, inconsolable quality of rainy countries, as if all was glimpsed through tears.

ordered me a sky from a florist

Our fingernails match our toenails, match our lipstick match our rouge...The habit of applying warpaint outlasts the battle.

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