His name is Arnold. But you're not on a first name basis with him, and that's not his first name. So that's Mr. Arnold to you. Once you get to know him, he may let you call him by his first name, which is Grafmiller. His middle name is his wife's maiden name: Maiden. Their maid's first name is Maiden, and her last name is America. Maiden America, though I think she was made in China.
When I was sixteen, I danced before an audience without music. At the end someone suddenly cried 'its Death and the Maiden'. But that was not my intention; I was only endeavoring to express my first knowledge of the underlying tragedy in all seemingly joyous manifestation. The dance according with my comprehension, should have been called 'Life and the Maiden'.
Invitation to Eternity Say, wilt thou go with me, sweet maid, Say, maiden, wilt thou go with me Through the valley-depths of shade, Of bright and dark obscurity; Where the path has lost its way, Where the sun forgets the day, Where there's nor light nor life to see, Sweet maiden, wilt thou go with me? Where stones will turn to flooding streams, Where plains will rise like ocean's waves, Where life will fade like visioned dreams And darkness darken into caves, Say, maiden, wilt thou go with me Through this sad non-identity Where parents live and are forgot, And sisters live and know us not? Say, maiden, wilt thou go with me In this strange death of life to be, To live in death and be the same, Without this life or home or name, At once to be and not to be- That was and is not-yet to see Things pass like shadows, and the sky Above, below, around us lie? The land of shadows wilt thou trace, Nor look nor know each other's face; The present marred with reason gone, And past and present both as one? Say, maiden, can thy life be led To join the living and the dead? Then trace thy footsteps on with me: We are wed to one eternity.
To love one maiden only, cleave to her, And worship her by years of noble deeds, Until they won her; for indeed I knew Of no more subtle master under heaven Than is the maiden passion for a maid, Not only to keep down the base in man, But teach high thought, and aimable words And courtliness, and the desire of fame, And love of truth, and all that makes man.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
When the filly, the maiden, the boy and the warrior are ready to take up their Destinies, each will know it. The filly will become a mare, the maiden a woman, the boy a man. The Warrior, however, will pick up a stick and walk from his mother, his people, and his land, and never once remove his eyes from the true red road that lies beneath his feet. And yet, he will never know that he is on his Path. (From Brothers of Light)
What, did you think," she asked, laughing as he struggled up the bank, "that I, a Gaulish maiden, could not swim?" "I did not think anything about it," Malchus said; "I saw you pushed in and followed without thinking at all." Although they imperfectly understood each other's words the meaning was clear; the girl put her hand on his shoulder and looked frankly up in his face. "I thank you," she said, "just the same as if you had saved my life. You meant to do so, and it was very good of you, a great chief of this army, to hazard your life for a Gaulish maiden. Clotilde will never forget.
What, did you think, " she asked, laughing as he struggled up the bank, "that I, a Gaulish maiden, could not swim?" "I did not think anything about it, " Malchus said; "I saw you pushed in and followed without thinking at all." Although they imperfectly understood each other's words the meaning was clear; the girl put her hand on his shoulder and looked frankly up in his face. "I thank you, " she said, "just the same as if you had saved my life. You meant to do so, and it was very good of you, a great chief of this army, to hazard your life for a Gaulish maiden. Clotilde will never forget.
Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil! - prophet still, if bird or devil! By that Heaven that bends above us- by that God we both adore- Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn, It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore- Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore." Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore.
Edgar Allan Poe
Linnet's thudding heart raced blood through her veins, sending a flush of embarrassing heat to her face. She had been avoiding him, but she could never tell him why. It took all her discipline not to quail under Sir Anthony's penetrating gaze. Blast the man. She'd lost count of the times he'd made her feel like a blushing maiden. Strictly speaking, she was still a maiden, but she'd given up blushing years ago-along with simpering, flirting, and so many other talents deemed useful to unmarried women. Except, of course, in Sir Anthony's august presence.
The eye of a man should be still more reverent before the rising of a young maiden than before the rising of a star. The possibility of touch should increase respect. The down of the peach, the dust of the plum, the radiated crystal of snow, the butterfly's wing powdered with feathers, are gross things beside that chastity that does not even know it is chaste. The young maiden is only the glimmer of a dream and is not yet statue. Her alcove is hidden in the shadows of the ideal. The indiscreet touch of the eye desecrates this dim penumbra. Here, to gaze, is to profane.
In the case of our fair maiden, we have overlooked two very crucial aspects to that myth. On the one hand, none of us ever really believed the sorcerer was real. We thought we could have the maiden without a fight. Honestly, most of us guys thought our biggest battle was asking her out. And second, we have not understood the tower and its relationship to her wound; the damsel is in distress. If masculinity has come under assault, femininity has been brutalized. Eve is the crown of creation, remember? She embodies the exquisite beauty and the exotic mystery of God in a way that nothing else in all creation even comes close to. And so she is the special target of the Evil One; he turns his most vicious malice against her. If he can destroy her or keep her captive, he can ruin the story.
Maiden Name Marrying left your maiden name disused. Its five light sounds no longer mean your face, Your voice, and all your variants of grace; For since you were so thankfully confused By law with someone else, you cannot be Semantically the same as that young beauty: It was of her that these two words were used. Now it's a phrase applicable to no one, Lying just where you left it, scattered through Old lists, old programmes, a school prize or two Packets of letters tied with tartan ribbon - Then is it scentless, weightless, strengthless, wholly Untruthful? Try whispering it slowly. No, it means you. Or, since you're past and gone, It means what we feel now about you then: How beautiful you were, and near, and young, So vivid, you might still be there among Those first few days, unfingermarked again. So your old name shelters our faithfulness, Instead of losing shape and meaning less With your depreciating luggage laden.
Where woman do not fit the Iron Maiden [societal expectations/assumptions about women's bodies], we are now being called monstrous, and the Iron Maiden is exactly that which no woman fits, or fits forever. A woman is being asked to feel like a monster now though she is whole and fully physically functional. The surgeons are playing on the myth's double standard for the function of the body. A man's thigh is for walking, but a woman's is for walking and looking "beautiful." If women can walk but believe our limbs look wrong, we feel that our bodies cannot do what they are meant to do; we feel as genuinely deformed and disabled as the unwilling Victorian hypochondriac felt ill.
Yes, " Nicholas replied, in a bored voice. "The name is Dutch. Dragonwyck, meaning place of the dragon. It derives from an Indian legend about a flying serpent whose eyes were fire and whose flaming breath withered the corn." "Heavens!" With a light laugh, Miranda asked her new employer if the red men had sent forth a champion to do battle with the dragon. The patroon's face was dark, unsmiling. "To appease him the wise men of the tribe sacrificed a pure maiden on the rocky bluff you see above you." Miranda's laughter died. Something in Nicholas Van Ryn's cruel, handsome features made her imagine herself in the Indian maiden's place.
The Bear and the Maiden Fair A bear there was, a bear, a bear! All black and brown, and covered with hair! The bear! The bear! Oh, come, they said, oh come to the fair! The fair? Said he, but I'm a bear! All black, and brown, and covered with hair! And Down the road from here to there. From here! To There! Three boys, a goat, and a dancing bear! [He] danced and spun, all the way to the Fair! The Fair! The Fair! [... ] Oh, sweet she was, and pure, and fair! The maid with honey in her hair! Her hair! Her hair! The maid with honey in her hair! [The bear, ] smelled the scent on the summer air. The bear! The bear! All black and brown and covered with hair. He smelled the scent on the summer air! He sniffed and roared and smelled it there! Honey on the summer air! Oh, I'm a maid, and I'm pure and fair! I'll never dance with a hairy bear! A bear! A bear! I'll never dance with a hairy bear! He lifted her high into the air! The bear! The bear! I called for a knight, but you're a bear! A bear! A bear! All black and brown and covered with hair! She kicked and wailed, the maid so fair, But he licked the honey from her hair, Her hair! Her hair! Then she sighed and squealed and kicked the air! My bear! She sang. My bear so fair! And off they went, from here to there, The bear, the bear, and the maiden fair. ~"The Bear and the Maiden Fair",
George R.R. Martin
Can't we make a blusterer ourselves? asked Jon Hreggvie°sson. Can't we scratch that damned sign with the ax-point onto the chopping block and get a beautiful, chubby woman in here tonight, right now-or preferably three? It was no easy matter to create such a sign, because in order to do so the two men required much greater access to the animal kingdom and the forces of nature than conditions in the dungeon permitted. The sign of the Blusterer is inscribed with a raven's gall on the rust-brown inner side of a bitch's skin, and afterward blood is sprinkled over the skin - blood from a black tomcat whose neck has been cut under a full moon by an unspoiled maiden. Where'd you find an unspoiled maiden to cut a black tomcat's neck asked Jon Hreggvie°sson.
I wrought me a lyric of fire and fear, And called on the world to heed - Till strong men blenched at my haggard face And shuddered, but would not read. So I stole me the gold of the mines of Joy And fashioned a conscious lie - And they gave me the wreath of the kings of Song And prayed that I might not die! (For the lie that I wrought was as old as the world And dear as the vision of Heaven - Of the crimson lure of a maiden's lips And the myth of a sin forgiven!) But my heart was sick, and my soul grew less, With the light of my failing days, Because I had lied to my Knowledge-God For the pottage of human praise. O I clung to the rim of the cliffs of Hell And called on an empty Name - Till there dropped the tears of a weeping Truth And saved my soul from the flame. So I hid my soul in a maiden's hair, And climbed to a clearer view - And I found I had lied to a lying God, And the myth I had sung - was true!
Yes, yes, mistress, I shall go and accomplish your task. Only""I was not only sent to kill the Leucrotta. There is a maiden in a tower""" At this the Witch spat, again rolling her marvelous eyes. "Those revolting creatures are always getting themselves locked up. If only they would stay that way.
Catherynne M. Valente