Titania Quotes

Ill met by moonlight, proud Titania

Sanity’s overated, my darling.

I ached for him, my stomach twisting painfully. He looked so desolate standing there alone facing a mad queen and several thousand angry fey. His voice was flat and resigned, as if he'd been pushed into a corner and had given up, not caring what happened next.

As she sustained wound after wound...the fairy should have fallen, but instead, she danced. This was Titania, the Fairy Queen.

Enough.” Titania rose and stabbed a glare of pure poison at me. “We do not need the half-breed, husband. Send her back to the mortal world she is so fond of.” “Sit down. I wasn't finished.

Methought I was enamour'd of an ass.

Children of Maeve reproducing with children of Titania wasn’t like apples mixing with oranges—it was more like apples mixing with cheese graters, or rainbows with hardware stores.

When in that moment,—so it came to pass,— Titania wak'd, and straightway lov'd an ass.

If I showed you what was in my heart," she said, "it would burn you to a cinder. "I've tried to burn you similarly," it said, "but you never even noticed when I opened my chest.

You died here," I said quietly. "October -" "I wasn't here, and the girl I'm supposed to be finding was, and you died ." I looked up at him, glaring through the tears in my eyes. I left my fingers balanced on the floor, letting his blood sing its song of pain and longing. Longing to live; refusal to let go of the world. Maybe that's what differentiates the Kings and Queens of Cats from the rest of Faerie. They have a cat's stubbornness and the power to back it up. So when death says, "Go," they just refuse. My heart hurt. My heart hurt so badly, and I was still trying to recover from Connor, and oh, Titania, I couldn't do this again. The thought startled me. I froze where I was, still glaring. Tybalt sighed. "I know." he hesitated before adding, "This is not the time, and this is not the place, and my nephew needs us. But I ask you to consider this. I got better. I will always get better." He hesitated again - possibly the first time I'd ever seen him pause more than once after he'd decided he was going to say something. Finally, he said, "Some of us, October, will not leave you.

Take every opportunity to resist the plague of cultural appropriation. Racial boundaries must be strictly policed. Unlike gender, which is totally fluid.

So," she said at last, her voice dripping poisoned icicles, "this is Oberon's little bastard." -Queen Titania

If you don’t want to be censored, don’t say the wrong things. It really is that simple.

I am what I am, and what I am is what I am. I have a will to be what I am, and what I will be is only what I am. If I have a will to be, I will to be no more than what I was. If I was what I am willed to be, yet they ever will be wondering what I am or what I ever was. I want to change the Wall, and make my will.

I had been breastfed for the first six months of my life. Did my mother not realise that I was a vegan? Did she even care? Either way, this was abuse.

Before I was even out of the crib I was self-harming with my nappy pin. By the age of four, I was suffering from both anorexia and chronic overeating. When these two conditions occur simultaneously it can be difficult to spot, because the victim ends up eating a regular amount of food on a consistent basis.

Having declared a passion for his wildness, she had sought from the beginning to tame him.

I have a will to be what I am, and what I will be is only what I am

In any case, if it is true that men are superior at sports, why is it that transgender athletes tend to win more medals after they transition to female?

For those who don’t know, ‘Antifa’ is an abbreviation of ‘antifascist’, which means they’re allowed to punch people in the name of tolerance.

The only bad thing about e-books is that you can’t burn them if they’re offensive.

As far as I’m concerned, you’re not entitled to call yourself a feminist if you haven’t been out marching for rights you already have while dressed as a massive cunt.

Imagine thinking that free speech meant that people can say whatever they want, whenever they want. That’s exactly how Nazi Germany started.

There’s a simple formula. If it entertains, it’s entertainment. If it offends, it’s hate speech. It’s up to the woke elite to supervise the boundaries. Join us.

When women are valued more than men, then and only then will we have achieved true equality.

And say what you will about ISIS, but at least they're not Islamophobic.

Males will often cite pseudo-scientific fields of study such as ‘biology’, ‘medicine’ or ‘endocrinology’ to prove that men are the physically stronger sex, although you’d be hard pushed to find a respectable feminist who takes any of this seriously.

Revelry isn't just the debauched pursuit of mindless, excessive--and often cruel-- pleasures as King Oberon and Titania have turned it into. It is supposed to be a place of art. No matter how seemingly frivolous, art can give a laugh, a light, a spark of pleasure relieves sorrow and uplifts the soul. It can tell truths and reach hearts better than dry, pedantic tomes. That's the true purpose of the Court of Revels.

Ihave words of wisdom for all young girls. No matter what you do in life, or how much you achieve, you will always be victims of the patriarchy. Understanding this is the key to your empowerment.

There's no more damage to be done," she said, in a faint, almost thoughtful voice. "No more damage, no salvation. One more of Faerie's glorious monsters lost." "If you'd left us alone--" I began. "You'd have sent some hero after me, given time enough. I killed, I die. At least I killed like a monster kills, instead of with iron, and dying by inches. That's Titania's way, the Queen who stands in the darkness and screams about her light.

On this matter, I highly recommend Robin DiA ngelo’s scintillating book White Fragility. If you’ve ever wondered why honkies get so uppity when you call them racist without any apparent justification, this is the book for you.

By the time this book is published, I am confident that there will have been a second referendum. After all, only 1,269,501 more people voted to Leave than to Remain. No serious mathematician would consider that any kind of ‘majority’.

I use the term ‘POC’ because it is a convenient way to group all non-whites together without having to go to the trouble of identifying their differences. Needless to say, this is particularly helpful when it comes to oriental countries like Japan, China and Siam, whose citizens are pretty much indistinguishable.

To give a tangible example of our achievements, consider how the definition of the word ‘Nazi’ has been successfully broadened to include anyone who voted for Brexit, has ever considered supporting the Conservative Party or who refuses to take the Guardian seriously. Although this is a great victory for the progressive cause, it does mean that there are now more Nazis living in modern Britain than even existed in 1930s Germany.

Cultural appropriation is the principal signifier of white privilege. ‘All white people,’ states Guardian columnist Lola Okolosie, are implicated ‘in white supremacy’. In other words, literally every white person you have ever met is a racist. It stands to reason.

Nuestros dos corazones son uno. Mi alfa y mi omega. Mi principio y mi fin”.

We need to challenge the lazy assumption that people aren't racist just because they don't say or do racist things.

Cada uno tenemos nuestra forma particular de lidiar con nuestros demonios. A mí me encantaría matar a los tuyos, pero prefiero estar a tu lado cuando lo hagas tú.

If Luke Skywalker had been cast as an aborigine back in 1977, racism would have been eliminated by now.

I think that there’s a lot of people more concerned about being precisely, factually and semantically correct than about being morally right. Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez

Twitter in particular is a cesspit of the far right. It’s got to the point where if someone doesn’t have ‘antifascist’ in their bio, it’s safest to assume that they’re a fascist.

Titania waked, and straightway loved an ass.

Oberon: Ill met by moonlight, proud Titania. Titania: What, jealous Oberon! - Fairies, skip hence: I have forsworn his bed and his company.

They get caught up in right and wrong. Or right and left. But none of that stuff matters if people aren’t free.” Titania

Why should Titania cross her Oberon? 120I do but beg a little changeling boy To be my henchman.

TITANIA (waking) What angel wakes me from my flowery bed?

once asked Titania if I might wear pants to a midnight dance, and she gave no reply but the bell song of her laugh.

A truth was brought home to Alex that he'd considered many times, but never in so personal a way: there were people in the world who had just enough religion to hate, but not enough religion to love.

Recently, police in the UK have been petitioning the general public to ‘report non-crime hate incidents’, which would incorporate ‘offensive or insulting comments, online, in person or in writing’. In this new woke era, our law enforcement agencies are not content to police crime, but also non-crime. This is a huge relief, because for a long while now too many citizens have been not breaking the law and getting away with it.

More recently, Labour MP Dawn Butler took umbrage at a new brand of ‘jerk rice’ that had been marketed by television chef Jamie Oliver. ‘Your jerk rice is not ok,’ Butler tweeted. ‘This appropriation from Jamaica needs to stop.’ For me, angry tweets addressed to celebrity chefs are what being a Member of Parliament is all about.

We all know how romantic entanglements with males can go. One minute he’s inviting you into his home for an innocent cup of coffee, the next you’re at the bottom of a well in his basement applying copious quantities of lotion.

Over the past few years I have become a formidable presence on the live slam-poetry scene. For those of you who are unfamiliar with slam, it’s like regular poetry but with extra pauses. And there’s usually a lactose-free buffet at the end.

Men are trained from birth to disregard the desires of women. Come to think of it, the process is initiated long before that. All males begin their lives within the bodies of their mothers. They are literally inside a woman without her verbal consent. I cannot put this explicitly enough. The very first thing a male does in his life is to rape his own mother.

So I brought them into the room with the bodies and I was all, Let me introduce you to … Ulysses. Let me introduce you to … Titania. He thought about it and added, I better say that it was Titania from Midsummer, Shakespeare, but Ulysses was for a dog my nana had when I was a child. I worshipped that dog. He was the bravest dog I’d ever met. Half Chihuahua, half pug. Nan called him Ulysses S. Grunt. Died from eating too much pizza. The dog, I mean. Nan died of pneumonia when I was a teenager.

Shakespeare was the third born to his parents, but the first to survive infancy. Four of his siblings died young. His son, Hamnet, died at eleven and left behind a twin. Plague closed the theaters again and again, death flickering over the landscape. And now in a twilight once more lit by candles, the age of electricity having come and gone, Titania turns to face her fairy king. “Therefore the moon, the governess of floods, pale in her anger, washes all the air, that rheumatic diseases do abound.

But, as Margaret half suspected, Edith had fallen asleep. She lay curled up on the sofa in the back drawing-room in Harley Street, looking very lovely in her white muslin and blue ribbons. If Titania had ever been dressed in white muslin and blue ribbons, and had fallen asleep on a crimson damask sofa in a back drawing-room, Edith might have been taken for her. Margaret was struck afresh by her cousin's beauty. They had grown up together from childhood, and all along Edith had been remarked upon by every one, except Margaret, for her prettiness; but Margaret had never thought about it until the last few days, when the prospect of soon losing her companion seemed to give force to every sweet quality and charm which Edith possessed. They had been talking about wedding dresses, and wedding ceremonies; and Captain Lennox, and what he had told Edith about her future life at Corfu, where his regiment was stationed; and the difficulty of keeping a piano in good tune (a difficulty which Edith seemed to consider as one of the most formidable that could befall her in her married life), and what gowns she should want in the visits to Scotland, which would immediately succeed her marriage; but the whispered tone had latterly become more drowsy; and Margaret, after a pause of a few minutes, found, as she fancied, that in spite of the buzz in the next room, Edith had rolled herself up into a soft ball of muslin and ribbon, and silken curls, and gone off into a peaceful little after-dinner nap.

As the last dish of confections was removed a weird pageant swept across the further end of the banqueting-room: Oberon and Titania with Robin Goodfellow and the rest, attired in silks and satins gorgeous of hue, and bedizened with such late flowers as were still with us. I leaned forward to commend, and saw that each face was brown and wizened and thin-haired: so that their motions and their wedding paean felt goblin and discomforting; nor could I smile till they departed by the further door. ("The Basilisk")

I know a bank where the wild thyme blows, Where oxlips and the nodding violet grows, Quite over-canopied with luscious woodbine, With sweet musk-roses and with eglantine: There sleeps Titania sometime of the night, Lulled in these flowers with dances and delight.

Some cynical Frenchman has said that there are two parties to a love-transaction: the one who loves and the other who condescends to be so treated. Perhaps the love is occasionally on the man's side; perhaps on the lady's. Perhaps some infatuated swain has ere this mistaken insensibility for modesty, dulness for maiden reserve, mere vacuity for sweet bashfulness, and a goose, in a word, for a swan. Perhaps some beloved female subscriber has arrayed an ass in the splendour and glory of her imagination; admired his dulness as manly simplicity; worshipped his selfishness as manly superiority; treated his stupidity as majestic gravity, and used him as the brilliant fairy Titania did a certain weaver at Athens. I think I have seen such comedies of errors going on in the world. Chapter 13

I voted for Jeremy Corbyn reluctantly, because as an intersectionalist I would have preferred a black lesbian in the role. But there’s always the possibility that Corbyn might transition at a later date, or that Diane Abbott might assume the Labour Party leadership and develop a taste for flange.

Titania! Was the Hagans’ rout not a mad crush? Much better than the theater, which I attended the night before. Very dull, and whoever told that playwright he could tell a story must have been a doting aunt, there is no other explanation. Such nonsense.” “What play was it?” “A Midsummer Night’s Dream.

Plague closed the theaters again and again, death flickering over the landscape. And now in a twilight once more lit by candles, the age of electricity having come and gone, Titania turns to face her fairy king. “Therefore the moon, the governess of floods, pale in her anger, washes all the air, that rheumatic diseases do abound.

Horses are a social construct.

One of the unwritten rules of a democracy is that referendums can be overturned if a sufficient number of rich celebrities demand it.

That’s the wonderful thing about identity politics; you never have to explain yourself, or even develop your thoughts into what right-wingers call a ‘coherent argument’.

The day my intersectional feminist poetry earns me as much as a male banker is the day the gender pay gap can be declared a myth.

But many activists criticised the march, pointing out that it focused largely on cisgender white women. ‘What about African-American women with penises?

You can still be homeless and have white privilege. Munroe Bergdorf

Let us not forget that white supremacy comes in many forms, and often it can insinuate itself into our culture through microwavable ready-meals.

On the other hand, as screenwriter Daisy Goodwin has pointed out, by depicting women in powerful roles producers are guilty of ‘airbrushing reality’. I would therefore like to see more shows in which women are depicted as powerful in order to send a positive message, but simultaneously depicted as weak in order to reflect the ways in which women are oppressed in society.

I am a teller of truths, a slayer of patriarchs, a fearless metaphysician. I teabag the foes of justice with a gender-neutral scrotum. I suckle the babes of hope with my sinewy teats of equality.

—Deja de eludir mi pregunta. ¿Por qué me has besado? Bruno le dio la espalda, sus manos se aferraron a la verja y el chico contestó con la mitad de la verdad: —Quería ver tu alma. Fue todo cuanto dijo, no confesó lo mucho que necesitaba besarla, ni lo mucho que le había gustado descubrir que sabía a tarta de queso con arándanos, agridulce como lamer una herida y adictiva como las noches de verano en la corte de Titania.

As a millennial icon on the forefront of online activism, I am uniquely placed to guide you through the often bewildering array of concepts that constitute contemporary ‘wokeness’. To put it bluntly, I am a much better person than you.

Be kind and corteous to this gentleman; Hop in his walks and gambol in his eyes; Feed him with apricocks and dewberries, With purple grapes, green figs, and mulberries; The honey bags steal from the humble-bees, And for night-tapers crop their waxen tights, And light them at the fiery glow-worm’s eyes, To have my love to bed and to arise; And pluck the wings from painted butterflies, To fan the moonbeams from his sleeping eyes. Nod to him, elves, and do him courtesies.

In a sense, one’s internet presence is one’s true personality. Old-fashioned ‘face-to-face’ conversation is all very well, but the best way to debate serious political issues is surely through an online forum in which you won’t have to deal with the potential intimidation that comes with actual human contact, and thoughts need not be developed beyond a 280-character limit. In addition, it’s important to be able to block people who disagree with you to avoid being triggered by challenging opinions.

So Uncle Auberon looked at the next dream and when he saw it he shivered and said, 'But this is a dream of a dark lake in a sad and rainy twilight. The woods are monstrous silent and a ghostly boat sails upon the water. The boatman is as thin and twisted as a hedge root and his face is all in shadow. Little human child, when you had this terrible dream, was you not afraid?' "Then the Raven Child banged his fist upon the table in his exasperation and stamped his foot upon the floor. 'Uncle Auberon!' he exclaimed, 'that is the fairy boat and the fairy boatman which you and Aunt Titania yourselves sent to fetch me and bring me to your house. Why should I be afraid?

The word ‘woman’ comes from the Old English for ‘female human’, whereas ‘man’ simply means ‘human’. Linguistically speaking, this implies that women are deviants from the norm. In order to rectify this, I sometimes refer to men as ‘unwomen’, and boys as ‘ungirls’. I likewise often refer to straight people as ‘ungays’, so that they too can understand what it feels like to be othered.

Thankfully, Silicon Valley tech giants have a commendable record of banning users who have problematic opinions, or engage in ‘satire’. And it’s not as though there has been a lack of transparency. YouTube, Twitter and Facebook have made it explicitly clear which opinions you are allowed to have. If you don’t want to be censored, don’t say the wrong things. It really is that simple.

Be kind and corteous to this gentleman; Hop in his walks and gambol in his eyews; Feed him with apricocks and dewberries, With purple grapes, green figs, and mulberries; The honey bags steal from the humble-bees, And for night-tapers crop their waxen tights, And light them at the fiery glow-worm’s eyes, To have my love to bed and to arise; And pluck the wings from painted butterflies, To fan the moonbeams from his sleeping eyes. Nod to him, elves, and do him courtesies.

Many have argued that Obama’s legacy is tainted by the fact that on his watch the Democratic Party haemorrhaged support to the Republicans, that he enabled policies of illegal domestic surveillance, doubled the national debt, allowed millions of citizens to fall below the poverty line and was guilty of reckless interventionism in foreign disputes. What these critics forget is that Obama was mixed race, and all of these flaws can be attributed to his white side. If he had been fully black, his legacy would have been irreproachable.

Confiding Julie, the first to get breasts, was cynical by Thanksgiving. Since no one else looked like the class slut, she was given the position, and she soon capitulated. She bleached her hair with Sun In, and started to mess around with boys who played in garage rock bands. Marianne, because she had long legs and a stem neck, rushed from school to her pliés at the barre, her hair in a bun, her head held high, to arch and sweep and bow toward the mirror until night fell. Cara delivered her audition piece flat, but since she had a wheat-colored rope of braid that brushed her waist, she would be Titania in the school play. Emily, bluntnosed and loud, could outact Cara in her sleep; when she saw the cast list she turned silently to her best friend, who handed her a box of milk chocolate creams. Tall, strong, bony Evvy watched Elise try out her maddening dimple. She cornered her outside class to ask her if she thought she was cute. Elise said yes, and Evvy threw a pipette of acid, stolen from the biology lab, in her face. Dodie hated her tight black hair that wouldn’t grow. She crept up behind blond Karen in home ec class and hacked out a fistful with pinking shears. Even Karen understood that it wasn’t personal.

Therefore the winds, piping to us in vain, as in revenge, have sucked up from the sea contagious fogs.…” Pestilential, a note in the text explains, next to the word contagious, in Kirsten’s favorite of the three versions of the text that the Symphony carries. Shakespeare was the third born to his parents, but the first to survive infancy. Four of his siblings died young. His son, Hamnet, died at eleven and left behind a twin. Plague closed the theaters again and again, death flickering over the landscape. And now in a twilight once more lit by candles, the age of electricity having come and gone, Titania turns to face her fairy king. “Therefore the moon, the governess of floods, pale in her anger, washes all the air, that rheumatic diseases do abound.” Oberon watches her with his entourage of fairies. Titania speaks as if to herself now, Oberon forgotten. Her voice carries high and clear over the silent audience, over the string section waiting for their cue on stage left. “And through this distemperature, we see the seasons alter.” All three caravans of the Traveling Symphony are labeled as such, THE TRAVELING SYMPHONY lettered in white on both sides, but the lead caravan carries an additional line of text: Because survival is insufficient.

The ubiquity of racism is an idea echoed by one of my favourite writers, Afua Hirsch, in her book Brit(ish): On Race, Identity and Belonging. Above all, I admire Hirsch’s tenacity, because even though she comes from an extremely wealthy family, was privately educated, enjoyed an idyllic childhood complete with ‘berry-stained rambles on Wimbledon Common’ and ‘walking holidays in the Alps’, she is still able to see past all that to realise that she is every bit as subjugated as those individuals who were bought and sold during the era of slavery. She is also brave enough to call out the obvious racism of anyone who gave her book a bad review.

JEANNE ENDORMIE. -- I LA SIESTE Elle fait au milieu du jour son petit somme; Car l'enfant a besoin du rêve plus que l'homme, Cette terre est si laide alors qu'on vient du ciel ! L'enfant cherche à revoir Chérubin, Ariel, Ses camarades, Puck, Titania, les fées, Et ses mains quand il dort sont par Dieu réchauffées. Oh ! comme nous serions surpris si nous voyions, Au fond de ce sommeil sacré, plein de rayons, Ces paradis ouverts dans l'ombre, et ces passages D'étoiles qui font signe aux enfants d'être sages, Ces apparitions, ces éblouissements ! Donc, à l'heure où les feux du soleil sont calmants, Quand toute la nature écoute et se recueille, Vers midi, quand les nids se taisent, quand la feuille La plus tremblante oublie un instant de frémir, Jeanne a cette habitude aimable de dormir; Et la mère un moment respire et se repose, Car on se lasse, même à servir une rose. Ses beaux petits pieds nus dont le pas est peu sûr Dorment; et son berceau, qu'entoure un vague azur Ainsi qu'une auréole entoure une immortelle, Semble un nuage fait avec de la dentelle; On croit, en la voyant dans ce frais berceau-là, Voir une lueur rose au fond d'un falbala; On la contemple, on rit, on sent fuir la tristesse, Et c'est un astre, ayant de plus la petitesse; L'ombre, amoureuse d'elle, a l'air de l'adorer; Le vent retient son souffle et n'ose respirer. Soudain, dans l'humble et chaste alcôve maternelle, Versant tout le matin qu'elle a dans sa prunelle, Elle ouvre la paupière, étend un bras charmant, Agite un pied, puis l'autre, et, si divinement Que des fronts dans l'azur se penchent pour l'entendre, Elle gazouille...-Alors, de sa voix la plus tendre, Couvrant des yeux l'enfant que Dieu fait rayonner, Cherchant le plus doux nom qu'elle puisse donner À sa joie, à son ange en fleur, à sa chimère: -Te voilà réveillée, horreur ! lui dit sa mère.

OUR TWO SOULS THEREFORE All that was ablaze in the Field of Flowers! Pluck forth a bloom, and think on what has been; on centuries of betrayal, and pain, and misunderstanding... I am what I am, and what I am is what I am. I have a will to be what I am, and what I will be is only what I am. If I have a will to be, I will to be no more than what I was. If I was I am willed to be, yet they ever will be wondering what I am or what I ever was. I want to change the Wall, and make my Will. That I am that same wall, the truth is so. And this the cranny is, right and sinister, Through which the fearful lovers are to whisper. Each pair adds up to every jointed piece; the bottom left is a square; bottom right is a square; top left is a square; top right is a square. The heart is a square too. WHICH ARE ONE And I am halfway through the orbit. And if you take half of the whole and make up pairs to equal me, you will soon use up all of the pairs. Now, look no further than the day. My alpha and my omega. Make of these two halves a whole. Take the song of equal number in the old king's book. Equal number of paces forward from the start. Equal number of paces backwards from the end - omitting only the single exit word. Amen to that. I am what I am, and what I am is what you will see. Count on me very carefully. ENDURE NOT YET A BREACH, BUT AN EXPANSION

The Misses Bale don’t like it a bit, but I say to them, “Titty,” I say -or as it may be, “Tatty” – their names are Titania and Tatiana -that awful mother of theirs –

Two Queens ruled Faerie, a kingdom divided between them. The elder was the Mebd, the Summer Queen. The younger was the Cat Anna, the Queen of Winter, the White Witch. There had been others, Queens and Kings of air and darkness, ghosts and shadows: Oonaugh, Titania, Oberon, Niamh, Finnvarra.

bed. There was no light coming from

Amy sighed and continued staring out the window. She hadn't been complaining. In fact, she had barely said

The white hart. What was it Titania said? The white hart is a sign from Danu and bestows wisdom on the fae who finds it…I don’t feel like it bestowed wisdom. In fact, I’m pretty sure it just split my brain in two.

When the Queens Ride, it’s to carry sacrifices to the Heart of Faerie. They used to go down the oldest and longest roads once every seven years, and come back with their company reduced by one, until fair Titania grew jealous of her sister, and asked her oldest daughter to find a way to break the Ride. So she did, and Maeve was lost to us, and the sacrifices stopped. When my brother Rode, it was intentional mockery of the Queens, to spite Titania for having failed to control her children, to shame our mother for being unwilling to help him. There are other Rides, but in the end, a Ride, a true Ride, is always a sacrifice.” She looked at me levelly. “Someone always pays.

It was only with the passage of time that Titania became familiar to people through the growing popularity of Midsummer Night’s Dream- both in stage performances and representations by painters and illustrators. As a consequence, it was not until the nineteenth century that the queen was accepted as one of the rightful members of the fairy court.

The use of classical names and terms as alternative ways of referring to characters from traditional British folklore was by no means an innovation by Shakespeare. Chaucer, for example, demonstrated his own learning by several times calling his fairy queen Proserpina- and the fairy king Pluto. As the influence of the Renaissance spread, such instances became even more common.40 Somewhat like the name of her consort Oberon (see later), Titania's name is more descriptive than personal.  'Titania' simply means that she is born of Titans- though this naturally begs some very important questions.  Roman writer Ovid tells us in The Metamorphoses that Titania is another name for or aspect of the goddess Diana: he described how she was accidentally seen by a young man when bathing with her nymphs: “while the Titanian Goddess was there bathing in the wonted stream…

Let's assume it was probably internal fairy stuff. That cuts it down to three suspects." "Three?" "The three people who could have managed it. Summer Queen, Winter Queen, Winter Knight. 1, 2, 3." "Harry, I said it could have been one of the queens...." I blinked up at the skull. "There are more than two?" "Yea... technically there are three." "THREE?" "...In each court." THREE QUEENS? In each court?! That's just silly..." "No, not if you think about it. Each court has three queens. The queen who was, the queen who is, and the queen who is to come." "Greeeat.... Which one does the knight work for?" "All of them. It's kind of a group thing. He has different duties to each queen." I felt the headache start at the base of my neck and creep towards the base of my head.

A Martian Midsummer Night's Dream by Stewart Stafford On Mars's pristine ruddy hue, we tread, Above, stars as adamantine algae spread. Phobos and Deimos, twin moons fair, Primeval river beds form a spidery lair. Dust storms tower above dried-up seas, A vast red alien desert, shorn of trees. Oberon and Titania's gamesmanship spite, Quarrel deep in the Martian summer night. Puckish antics stir starry lovers' hearts true, As spells and dreams on tangled paths pursue. On Olympus Mons, Vulcan gods watch and scheme, Echoes of old wars fuelling plans extreme; A Wellsian tome of the tripod Martian foe, Of invasive seeds, spread to Earth to sow. In Valles Marineris, where canyons stretch away, Dead of night gives birth to coppery day. A frontier vision, both opaque and diamond clear, Magical flights of fancy on an untamed sphere. © 2024, Stewart Stafford. All rights reserved.

We are all very familiar with the concept of faery queens, whether from Mab, Titania or from Spencer’s famous poem, and British folk tradition gives the strong impression that they are widespread. Other than Oberon, faery kings are rather less frequently mentioned. We hear of an unnamed monarch in the poem King Orfeo, the ‘eldritch king’ of the ballad Sir Cawline, the elf king of Leesom Brand and, finally, the small faery man of the ballad the Wee Wee Man seems to be some sort of faery ruler or noble.113 As mentioned earlier, the sixteenth century Scottish poet Montgomerie wrote of “the King of Pharie with the court of the Elph-quene.’ It’s not apparent whether there is any major significance to his choice of wording, which seems at least to imply that the king is in some manner subservient to his consort.

The king’s consort Mycob (or sometimes Micol) is said to appear dressed in green and is, like her husband, skilled in the use of herbs and medicines. Often invoked alongside her is another spirit who’s called Titam. This name is also found written as Titem, Tytarit, Titan, Tytan, Tytar or, even, Setan and Chicam. There’s a very wide range of spellings, but this spirit could clearly relate to Titania, discussed in the previous chapter. The name ‘Mycob’ itself, meanwhile, has been suggested to be a variant of Mab, whom we will examine later.

Live and let live. Love thyself, in order to love thy man. Smart, independent women attract men.

Oberon could not speak for the burning anger on is tongue. Instead, he drew back his mighty fist and would have knocked his captain clean off the wall, down on the jagged rocks below... Only suddenly, standing between him and his prey was the gloriously golden image of his wife smiling sweetly up at him. "Really, darling, such a display. And so public too!" she said, laughing like the ringing of a bell chorus. "What will all the little ones think?' "Out of my way, Titania!" Oberon bellowed. "Puck has told me of your part in all this nonsense, and I'll be dealing with you next!" But Titania had seen too many of her husband's tempers over the long centuries of their marriage to mind him much now. "Don't be ridiculous," she said lightly, tapping him on the nose with one long, elegant finger. 'Do you really want to stand in the way of true love? When you start meddling with people's hearts, things never go well, as everyone knows.

Summer estaba en lo cierto, después de todo: sería una increíble Titania. Si lo consigue ella, ¿a mí qué? Podría ser un Duende mejor, y eso podría ser más divertido de todos modos. Parezco una malvada andrógina ahora, con mi cabello corto. Probablemente sería un estupendo Duende, en realidad, ahora que lo pienso. ¿Quién dice que tengo que ser la Reina de las Hadas?