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.
Angela CarterI will tell you what Jeanne was like. She was like a piano in a country where everyone has had their hands cut off.
Angela Carterwe must not blame our poor symbols if they take forms that seem trivial to us, or absurd, ... however paltry they may be; the nature of our life alone has determined their forms.
Angela Carter