Not for Moorcock the painful, infrequent excretion of dry little novels like so many rabbit pellets; his is the grand, messy fluxitself, in all its heroic vulgarity, its unquenchable optimism, its enthusiasm for the inexhaustible variousness of things. — Angela Carter Copy Share Image
He was a lovely man in many ways. But he kept on insisting on forgiving me when there was nothing to forgive. — Angela Carter Copy Share Image
I know that whenever a group of women are gathered together, the grandmother always makes a phantom appearance, hovering above them. — Angela Carter Copy Share Image
“She herself is a haunted house. She does not possess herself; her ancestors sometimes come and peer out of the window of her eyes… — Angela Carter Copy Share Image
Hollywood... was the place where the United States perpetrated itself as a universal dream and put the dream into mass production. — Angela Carter Copy Share Image
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… — Angela Carter Copy Share Image
“Mother goddesses are just as silly a notion as father gods. If a revival of the myths of these cults gives woman emotional satisfaction,… — Angela Carter Copy Share Image
Out of the frying pan into the fire! What is marriage but prostitution to one man instead of many? No different! — Angela Carter Copy Share Image
And each stroke of his tongue ripped off skin after successive skin, all the skins of a life in the world, and left behind… — Angela Carter Copy Share Image
In a secular age, an authentic miracle must purport to be a hoax, in order to gain credit in the world. — Angela Carter Copy Share Image
