Big Vocabulary Quotes

God, I love a man with a big vocabulary.

Also, loquacious?" I arched a brow. "Trying to impress me with your big vocabulary?" "Since you're unwilling to check out my big cock, I thought it second best.

All of us possess a reading vocabulary as big as a lake but draw from a writing vocabulary as small as a pond. The good news is that the acts of searching and gathering always expand the number of usable words.

Those were all big words, to be sure, but as has been said, September read often, and liked it best when words did not pretend to be simple, but put on their full armor and rode out with colors flying.

When I wake up in the morning… I don’t think, wow, how can I make her love me more? How can I have my way with her? I, I, I? Not in my vocabulary. In fact, I’m a big fan of the letter u. I eat, I think of you. I drink, I drink to you. I cry, so you don’t have to. I’d die, for you to live. And I’d survive with a broken heart only if it meant mending yours.” - Nixon

the only thing that counts about one’s vocabulary, is the effect his words and phrases have on his own and others’ thinking.

..."Emeninemletters," Caucasian girls from the wrong side of the tracks with big mouths and big attitudes, who weren't taking shit from anyone(except the men in their lives). They had thinly plucked eyebrows, corn-rowed hair, hip-hop vocabularies, and baby daddies, and they thought Paris Hilton was the ne plus ultra of feminine beauty." -Piper Kerman, page 137

The ideal community, in a sense, would be the loose, fluid aggregation of individuals who elected to be alone and detached in order to be at one with themselves and all that lives and breathes. It would be a God-filled community, even if none of its members believe in (a) God. It would be a paradise, even though the word had long disappeared from our vocabulary.

I remember when I was probably about ten years old I had a pen pal, and writing letters back and forth with him was one of my favorite things to do. His name was Steve and he lived in one of those huge mansions that's so big it has a name. It was called the Louisiana State Penitentiary, and he told me it was even bigger than the mayor's mansion. We'd send letters back and forth and he'd ask me to send him my favorite books and small pieces of metal or wood that were lying around and all the money I could find in my house. And I'd gather them all up and put cute little stickers of cats on the packages and send them away. It was so fun. Eventually we stopped writing because I moved to another city and he moved out to live on his own. He called it "solitary confinement." I was always so impressed by his vocabulary.

Stephen had been put to sleep in his usual room, far from children and noise, away in that corner of the house which looked down to the orchard and the bowling-green, and in spite of his long absence it was so familiar to him that when he woke at about three he made his way to the window almost as quickly as if dawn had already broken, opened it and walked out onto the balcony. The moon had set: there was barely a star to be seen. The still air was delightfully fresh with falling dew, and a late nightingale, in an indifferent voice, was uttering a routine jug-jug far down in Jack's plantations; closer at hand and more agreeable by far, nightjars churred in the orchard, two of them, or perhaps three, the sound rising and falling, intertwining so that the source could not be made out for sure. There were few birds that he preferred to nightjars, but it was not they that had brought him out of bed: he stood leaning on the balcony rail and presently Jack Aubrey, in a summer-house by the bowling-green, began again, playing very gently in the darkness, improvising wholly for himself, dreaming away on his violin with a mastery that Stephen had never heard equalled, though they had played together for years and years. Like many other sailors Jack Aubrey had long dreamed of lying in his warm bed all night long; yet although he could now do so with a clear conscience he often rose at unChristian hours, particularly if he were moved by strong emotion, and crept from his bedroom in a watch-coat, to walk about the house or into the stables or to pace the bowling-green. Sometimes he took his fiddle with him. He was in fact a better player than Stephen, and now that he was using his precious Guarnieri rather than a robust sea-going fiddle the difference was still more evident: but the Guarnieri did not account for the whole of it, nor anything like. Jack certainly concealed his excellence when they were playing together, keeping to Stephen's mediocre level: this had become perfectly clear when Stephen's hands were at last recovered from the thumb-screws and other implements applied by French counter-intelligence officers in Minorca; but on reflexion Stephen thought it had been the case much earlier, since quite apart from his delicacy at that period, Jack hated showing away. Now, in the warm night, there was no one to be comforted, kept in countenance, no one could scorn him for virtuosity, and he could let himself go entirely; and as the grave and subtle music wound on and on, Stephen once more contemplated on the apparent contradiction between the big, cheerful, florid sea-officer whom most people liked on sight but who would have never been described as subtle or capable of subtlety by any one of them (except perhaps his surviving opponents in battle) and the intricate, reflective music he was now creating. So utterly unlike his limited vocabulary in words, at times verging upon the inarticulate. 'My hands have now regained the moderate ability they possessed before I was captured,' observed Maturin, 'but his have gone on to a point I never thought he could reach: his hands and his mind. I am amazed. In his own way he is the secret man of the world.

All conversation, big or small, is about painting word pictures of your experiences for other people. The more

the difference between a respected vocabulary and a mundane one is only about fifty words!

If I assume that my vocabulary is big enough to envelop all of God, I can be certain that it is my arrogance that has enveloped all of me.

If anyone in your publishing life were to argue against a particular book or a career aspiration for reasons you had not already pondered and rejected after careful analysis, if they dazzled you with brilliant new considerations, then you’d have to back off and revisit your decisions. But what I was told never dazzled me. For example, I was often advised, by different people, that my work would never gain a big audience because my vocabulary was too large.

I'm a chameleon," revealed Todd, a 30-year-old single Nice Guy. "I will become whatever I believe a person wants me to be in order to be liked. With my smart friends I act intelligent and use a big vocabulary. Around my mother, I look like the perfect loving son. With my dad, I talk sports. With the guys at work I cuss and swear … whatever it takes to look cool. Underneath it all, I'm not sure who I really am or if any of them would like me just for who I am. If I can't figure out what people want me to be, I'm afraid I will be all alone. The funny thing is, I feel alone most of the time anyway.

For three years, all through junior high, my social death was grossly overdetermined. I had a large vocabulary, a giddily squeaking voice, horn-rimmed glasses, poor arm strength, too-obvious approval from my teachers, irresistible urges to shout unfunny puns, a near-eidetic acquaintance with J.R.R. Tolkien, a big chemistry lab in my basement, a penchant for intimately insulting any unfamiliar girl unwise enough to speak to me, and so on.

What role models do kids have nowadays?Some ridiculously overpaid footballer prone to childish tantrums?The morons in the Big Brother house,perhaps? Or maybe the various gun-toting rappers who regularly delight us with their expletive-ridden vocabulary and eccentric attitude to women?

TECHNIQUE #26 YOUR PERSONAL THESAURUS Look up some common words you use every day in the thesaurus. Then, like slipping your feet into a new pair of shoes, slip your tongue into a few new words to see how they fit. If you like them, start making permanent replacements. Remember, only fifty words makes the difference between a rich, creative vocabulary and an average, middle-of-the-road one. Substitute a word a day for two months and you'll be in the verbally elite.

———————————— WHAT WE TEACH YOU How to address your lodge. How to give toasts. How to tell dialect stories. How to propose to a lady. How to entertain banquets. How to make convincing selling-talks. How to build big vocabulary. How to create a strong personality. How to become a rational, powerful and original thinker. How to be a MASTER MAN!

Let me see if I've got this right,' said Vimes. 'Überwald is like this big suet pudding that everyone's suddenly noticed, and now with this coronation as an excuse we've all got to rush there with knife, fork and spoon to shovel as much on our plates as possible?' 'Your grasp of political reality is masterly, Vimes. Your lack only the appropriate vocabulary.

David Newell--Mr. McFeely--notes that "Fred really wanted people to grow; that was a big word in his vocabulary. He was always growing--growing emotionally, growing educationally. ...

This was before the importance of set and setting was understood. I was brought to a basement room, given an injection, and left alone.” A recipe for a bad trip, surely, but Richards had precisely the opposite experience. “I felt immersed in this incredibly detailed imagery that looked like Islamic architecture, with Arabic script, about which I knew nothing. And then I somehow became these exquisitely intricate patterns, losing my usual identity. And all I can say is that the eternal brilliance of mystical consciousness manifested itself. My awareness was flooded with love, beauty, and peace beyond anything I ever had known or imagined to be possible. ‘Awe,’ ‘glory,’ and ‘gratitude’ were the only words that remained relevant.” Descriptions of such experiences always sound a little thin, at least when compared with the emotional impact people are trying to convey; for a life-transforming event, the words can seem paltry. When I mentioned this to Richards, he smiled. “You have to imagine a caveman transported into the middle of Manhattan. He sees buses, cell phones, skyscrapers, airplanes. Then zap him back to his cave. What does he say about the experience? ‘It was big, it was impressive, it was loud.’ He doesn’t have the vocabulary for ‘skyscraper,’ ‘elevator,’ ‘cell phone.’ Maybe he has an intuitive sense there was some sort of significance or order to the scene. But there are words we need that don’t yet exist. We’ve got five crayons when we need fifty thousand different shades.” In

For some reason, I keep thinking about how good her English is. There’s only a hint of an accent, and her vocabulary is rich, her sentence structures complex and varied. Athena had always made a big deal about how her parents had immigrated to the States without speaking a word of English, but Mrs. Liu’s English sounds fine to me.

Don’t the stars make you feel so small?” Bastien said, and there was a slight roughness around his words from where his lip was already swollen. “People always say that,” Ott said. “I don’t understand it. The stars make me feel . . .” I could hear the gears turning, the struggle as Ott tried to cram the whole huge tapestry of his thoughts into the meager words of his vocabulary. “They make me feel big. A giant cosmic accident. Like—what are the chances that I would even happen? You know? If my parents hadn’t met, if the dinosaurs never died out . . . we might not be here. But here we are. And we get to look up at the stars at night. Who would appreciate them if we didn’t?

Respect was a big word in Linc's vocabulary. It meant being selective and paying attention to things that mattered and people who made differences. And respect for oneself meant being valuable enough to make sure they would notice you. That was the key to doing better than just getting by and surviving, which was something even the rats in the sewers under the city managed.

No more peeping through keyholes! No more mas turbating in the dark! No more public confessions! Unscrew the doors from their jambs! I want a world where the vagina is represented by a crude, honest slit, a world that has feeling for bone and contour, for raw, primary colors, a world that has fear and respect for its animal origins. I’m sick of looking at cunts all tickled up, disguised, deformed, idealized. Cunts with nerve ends exposed. I don’t want to watch young virgins masturbating in the privacy of their boudoirs or biting their nails or tearing their hair or lying on a bed full of bread crumbs for a whole chapter. I want Madagascan funeral poles, with animal upon animal and at the top Adam and Eve, and Eve with a crude, honest slit between the legs. I want hermaphrodites who are real hermaphrodites, and not make-believes walking around with an atrophied penis or a dried-up cunt. I want a classic purity, where dung is dung and angels are angels. The Bible a la King James, for example. Not the Bible of Wycliffe, not the Vulgate, not the Greek, not the Hebrew, but the glorious, death-dealing Bible that was created when the English language was in flower, when a vocabulary of twenty thousand words sufficed to build a monument for all time. A Bible written in Svenska or Tegalic, a Bible for the Hottentots or the Chinese, a Bible that has to meander through the trickling sands of French is no Bible-it is a counterfeit and a fraud. The King James Version was created by a race of bone-crushers. It revives the primitive mysteries, revives rape, murder, incest, revives epilepsy, sadism, megalomania, revives demons, angels, dragons, leviathans, revives magic, exorcism, contagion, incantation, revives fratricide, regicide, patricide, suicide, revives hypnotism, anarchism, somnambulism, revives the song, the dance, the act, revives the mantic, the chthonian, the arcane, the mysterious, revives the power, the evil, and the glory that is God. All brought into the open on a colossal scale, and so salted and spiced that it will last until the next Ice Age. A classic purity, then-and to hell with the Post Office authorities! For what is it enables the classics to live at all, if indeed they be living on and not dying as we and all about us are dying? What preserves them against the ravages of time if it be not the salt that is in them? When I read Petronius or Apuleius or Rabelais, how close they seem! That salty tang! That odor of the menagerie! The smell of horse piss and lion’s dung, of tiger’s breath and elephant’s hide. Obscenity, lust, cruelty, boredom, wit. Real eunuchs. Real hermaphrodites. Real pricks. Real cunts. Real banquets! Rabelais rebuilds the walls of Paris with human cunts. Trimalchio tickles his own throat, pukes up his own guts, wallows in his own swill. In the amphitheater, where a big, sleepy pervert of a Caesar lolls dejectedly, the lions and the jackals, the hyenas, the tigers, the spotted leopards are crunching real human boneswhilst the coming men, the martyrs and imbeciles, are walking up the golden stairs shouting Hallelujah!

But one look at Wildcard's face, and he knew there was trouble. Problem? he signaled. Wildcard responded with an obscene gesture that more than conveyed his opinion that not only was this a problem, but it was a big problem. ... "Okay". That was not anywhere near the complete reaming Muldoon imagined "We'll take a different route down." "We could", Wildcard agreed. "But they've got a prisoner.." Oh man, that hurt. Dream op to nightmare...Muldoon gritted his teeth and considered his options. "Holy fuck", Wildcard said. "When I tell you that a stupid ass French photog is going to turn this perfect op into a total clusterfuck, what you say sir, is 'Oh, holy fuck'. If this isn't the time to use your full adult vocabulary, Lieutenant, I honestly don't know what is".

The cognitive style of individuals with paranoid personality disorder deserves special mention. Overtly, they have a legalistic bent, sharp attention, rich vocabulary, hypervigilance, and a tendency toward perceptual hairsplitting; they often possess striking oratorial skills. Covertly, however, they are unable to grasp the “big picture.” They readily dismiss the obvious, including any evidence that is contradictory to their preexisting beliefs. Their attention is narrow and biased. They are experts in seeing the “truth” but almost always fail to grasp the “whole truth.

Wes doesn’t make me wait long—in a heartbeat, his tip prods my ass, and then his big, lubed-up cock slips through the ring of muscle and plunges inside. We both groan. His hands clutch my hips, long fingers digging into my skin as he slowly pulls out, then slams back in again. “Fucking hell, Canning, I fucking love you so fucking much.” He sounds like he’s struggling to breathe, and when half his vocabulary is reduced to F-bombs, that means Wes is barely hanging on to his control. But I love it when he loses control. I know I'm in for a wild ride and holy hell does he give it to me.

Yes, in the very beginning of her life the girl-child is full of herself. Her days are meaningful and unfold according to a deep wisdom that resides within her. It faithfully orchestrates her movements from crawling to walking to running, her sounds from garbles to single words to sentences, and her knowing of the world through her sensual connection to it. Her purpose is clear: to live fully in the abundance of her life. With courage, she explores her world. Her ordinary life is interesting enough. Every experience is filled with wonder and awe. It is enough to listen to the rain dance and count the peas on her plate. Ordinary life is her teacher, challenge, and delight. She says a big YES to Life as it pulsates through her body. With excitement, she explores her body. She is unafraid of channeling strong feelings through her. She feels her joy, sadness, anger, and fear. She is pregnant with her own life. She is content to be alone. She touches the depths of her uniqueness. She loves her mind. She expresses her feelings. She likes herself when she looks in the mirror. She trusts her vision of the world and expresses it. With wonder and delight, she paints a picture, creates a dance, and makes up a song. To give expression to what she sees is as natural as her breathing. And when challenged, she is not lost for words. She has a vocabulary to speak about her experience. She speaks from her heart. She voices her truth. She has no fear, no sense that to do it her way is wrong or dangerous. She is a warrior. It takes no effort for her to summon up her courage, to arouse her spirit. With her courage, she solves problems. She is capable of carrying out any task that confronts her. She has everything she needs within the grasp of her mind and imagination. With her spirit, she changes what doesn’t work for her. She says “I don’t like that person” when she doesn’t, and “I like that person” when she does. She says no when she doesn’t want to be hugged. She takes care of herself.

If I were to list all the positive attributes about Ryan Lilly, I’d run out of superior adjectives to use. I mean seriously, how big do you think my vocabulary is? I only know about a hundred million words, and with that small of a sample size, how could I accurately describe someone as great as Ryan? Ryan is the most amazing guy I’ve ever met. Seriously, I’m insanely jealous and I just want to stab him. But I won’t, because everybody loves Ryan, including me. Ryan is a big inspiration in my life. Not only is Ryan fiercely intelligent—on the level of Newton, da Vinci, and Nietzsche’s mustache—but he is the most open, honest, and understanding guy I’ve ever met. He’s the kind of guy who’d give you the shirt off his back if you asked. I know, because I’m wearing his shirt now. If you don’t know who Ryan Lilly is, you soon will. He’ll probably be one of the most talked about people in history, and just the other day I came across this quote from Pliny (I don’t know how old Pliny is, so I don’t know if it was Pliny the Older or Pliny the Younger) which said, “Everything good I have written about can be summed up in two words: Ryan Lilly.” That’s a real quote I read in a real book. Trust me, I’m a writer.

He missed the women he’d never get to sleep with. On the other side of the room, tantalizing at the next table, that miracle passing by the taqueria window giving serious wake. They wore too much make up or projected complex emotions onto small animals, smiled exactly so, took his side when no one else would, listened when no one else cared to. They were old money or fretted over ludicrously improbable economic disasters, teetotaled or drank like sailors, pecked like baby birds at his lips or ate him up greedily. They carried slim vocabularies or stooped to conquer in the wordsmith board games he never got the hang of. They were all gone, these faceless unknowables his life’s curator had been saving for just the right moment, to impart a lesson he’d probably never learn. He missed pussies that were raring to go when he slipped a hand beneath the elastic rim of the night-out underwear and he missed tentative but coaxable recesses, stubbled armpits and whorled ankle coins, birthmarks on the ass shaped like Ohio, said resemblance he had to be informed of because he didn’t know what Ohio look like. The size. They were sweet-eyed or sad-eyed or so successful in commanding their inner turbulence so that he could not see the shadows. Flaking toenail polish and the passing remark about the scent of a nouveau cream that initiated a monologue about its provenance, special ingredients, magic powers, and dominance over all the other creams. The alien dent impressed by a freshly removed bra strap, a garment fancy or not fancy but unleashing big or small breasts either way. He liked big breasts and he liked small breasts; small breasts were just another way of doing breasts. Brains a plus but negotiable. Especially at 3:00am, downtown. A fine fur tracing an earlobe, moles at exactly the right spot, imperfections in their divine coordination. He missed the dead he’d never lose himself in, be surprised by, disappointed in.

Focus intently and beat procrastination.    Use the Pomodoro Technique (remove distractions, focus for 25 minutes, take a break).    Avoid multitasking unless you find yourself needing occasional fresh perspectives.    Create a ready-to-resume plan when an unavoidable interruption comes up.    Set up a distraction-free environment.    Take frequent short breaks. Overcome being stuck.    When stuck, switch your focus away from the problem at hand, or take a break to surface the diffuse mode.    After some time completely away from the problem, return to where you got stuck.    Use the Hard Start Technique for homework or tests.    When starting a report or essay, do not constantly stop to edit what is flowing out. Separate time spent writing from time spent editing. Learn deeply.    Study actively: practice active recall (“retrieval practice”) and elaborating.    Interleave and space out your learning to help build your intuition and speed.    Don’t just focus on the easy stuff; challenge yourself.    Get enough sleep and stay physically active. Maximize working memory.    Break learning material into small chunks and swap fancy terms for easier ones.    Use “to-do” lists to clear your working memory.    Take good notes and review them the same day you took them. Memorize more efficiently.    Use memory tricks to speed up memorization: acronyms, images, and the Memory Palace.    Use metaphors to quickly grasp new concepts. Gain intuition and think quickly.    Internalize (don’t just unthinkingly memorize) procedures for solving key scientific or mathematical problems.    Make up appropriate gestures to help you remember and understand new language vocabulary. Exert self-discipline even when you don’t have any.    Find ways to overcome challenges without having to rely on self-discipline.    Remove temptations, distractions, and obstacles from your surroundings.    Improve your habits.    Plan your goals and identify obstacles and the ideal way to respond to them ahead of time. Motivate yourself.    Remind yourself of all the benefits of completing tasks.    Reward yourself for completing difficult tasks.    Make sure that a task’s level of difficulty matches your skill set.    Set goals—long-term goals, milestone goals, and process goals. Read effectively.    Preview the text before reading it in detail.    Read actively: think about the text, practice active recall, and annotate. Win big on tests.    Learn as much as possible about the test itself and make a preparation plan.    Practice with previous test questions—from old tests, if possible.    During tests: read instructions carefully, keep track of time, and review answers.    Use the Hard Start Technique. Be a pro learner.    Be a metacognitive learner: understand the task, set goals and plan, learn, and monitor and adjust.    Learn from the past: evaluate what went well and where you can improve.

She had thought of them as “big,” because one of the first things her friend Ginika told her was that “fat” in America was a bad word, heaving with moral judgment like “stupid” or “bastard,” and not a mere description like “short” or “tall.” So she had banished “fat” from her vocabulary.

This was the big advantage of “Oriental“ campaign excavations: whereas in Europe they were forced by their budgets to dig them selves, archaeologists in Syria, like their glorious predecessors, could delegate the lowly tasks. As Bilger said, quoting The Good, the Bad and the Ugly”: “you see, in this world there’s two kinds of people, my friend: those with loaded guns and those who dig.” So the European archaeologists had acquired an extremely specialized and technical Arabic vocabulary: dig here, clear there, with a shovel, a pickax, a small pick, a trowel — the brush was the privilege of Westerners. Dig gently, clear quickly, and it was not rare to overhear the following dialogue: “Go one meter down here.” “Yes boss. With an excavation shovel?” “Um, big shovel… Big shovel no. Instead pickax.” “With the big pickax?” “Big pickax no. Little pick.” “So, we should dig down to  one meter with the little pick?” “Na’am, na’am. Shwia shwia, Listen, don’t go smashing in the whole world to finish more quickly, OK?” In these circumstances there were obviously misunderstandings that led to irreparable losses for science: a number of walls and stylobates fell victim to the perverse alliance of linguistics and capitalism, but on the whole the archaeologists were happy with their personnel, whom they trained, so to speak, season after season....[I am] curious to know what these excavations represent, for these workers. Do they have the feeling that we are stripping them of their history, that Europeans are stealing something from them, once again? Bilger had a theory: he argued that for these workmen whatever came before Islam does not belong to them, is of another order, another world, which falls into the category of the qadim jiddan, the “very old”; Bilger asserted that for a Syrian, the history of the world is divided into three periods: jadid, recent; qadim, old; qadim jiddan, very old, without it being very clear if it was simply his own level of Arabic that was the cause for such a simplification: even if his workers talked to him about the succession of Mesopotamian dynasties, they would have had to resort, lacking a common language that he could understand, to the qadim jiddan. 

This was the big advantage of “Oriental“ campaign excavations: whereas in Europe they were forced by their budgets to dig themselves, archaeologists in Syria, like their glorious predecessors, could delegate the lowly tasks. As Bilger said, quoting The Good, the Bad and the Ugly”: “you see, in this world there’s two kinds of people, my friend: those with loaded guns and those who dig.” So the European archaeologists had acquired an extremely specialized and technical Arabic vocabulary: dig here, clear there, with a shovel, a pickax, a small pick, a trowel — the brush was the privilege of Westerners. Dig gently, clear quickly, and it was not rare to overhear the following dialogue: “Go one meter down here.” “Yes boss. With an excavation shovel?” “Um, big shovel… Big shovel no. Instead pickax.” “With the big pickax?” “Big pickax no. Little pick.” “So, we should dig down to  one meter with the little pick?” “Na’am, na’am. Shwia shwia, Listen, don’t go smashing in the whole world to finish more quickly, OK?” In these circumstances there were obviously misunderstandings that led to irreparable losses for science: a number of walls and stylobates fell victim to the perverse alliance of linguistics and capitalism, but on the whole the archaeologists were happy with their personnel, whom they trained, so to speak, season after season....[I am] curious to know what these excavations represent, for these workers. Do they have the feeling that we are stripping them of their history, that Europeans are stealing something from them, once again? Bilger had a theory: he argued that for these workmen whatever came before Islam does not belong to them, is of another order, another world, which falls into the category of the qadim jiddan, the “very old”; Bilger asserted that for a Syrian, the history of the world is divided into three periods: jadid, recent; qadim, old; qadim jiddan, very old, without it being very clear if it was simply his own level of Arabic that was the cause for such a simplification: even if his workers talked to him about the succession of Mesopotamian dynasties, they would have had to resort, lacking a common language that he could understand, to the qadim jiddan. 

Busting out the fancy words now?” Jer continued with an amused grin. “Don’t tease. You know how a big vocabulary turns me on.” Raven pursed her lips to hide her smile as she handed him a bowl and fork. “Yeah, okay. Keep your big vocabulary in your pants,” she responded.

Blue Bottle wanted to help customers find coffee they’d love. But coffee beans all look alike, so photos wouldn’t be helpful. To find useful solutions, the team did Lightning Demos of websites selling everything from clothes to wine, looking for ways to describe sensory details such as flavor, aroma, and texture. In the end, it was a chocolate-bar wrapper that provided the most useful idea. Tcho is a chocolate manufacturer in Berkeley, California. Printed on the wrapper of every Tcho bar is a simple flavor wheel with just six words: Bright, Fruity, Floral, Earthy, Nutty, and Chocolatey. When Blue Bottle looked at that wheel, they got inspired, and when we sketched, someone repurposed the idea as a simple flavor vocabulary for describing Blue Bottle’s coffee beans: In Friday’s test, and later, at the new online store, customers loved the simple descriptions. It’s a prime example of finding inspiration outside your domain (and yet another reason to be grateful for chocolate).

Bourdieu argued that a dominant class enforces rules about what is and is not acceptable. It defines good art, good food, good books—and creates an exclusionary vocabulary for describing them. “Taste classifies, and it classifies the classifier,” he famously wrote.

Disaster’s good for the oligarchy. Ha,” Billy said to my goggle-eyes. “Fair’s fair. You pull out ‘exsanguinate,’ I pull out ‘oligarchy.’” “I’m in awe. There’s nothing sexier than a guy with a big vocabulary. Don’t tell your wife I said that.

Some people can predict whether it's going to rain or sense when something bad is going to happen. Murphy had a sixth sense about people hitting on her. She could see it from a mile away, the way a spider can see the movements of a fly. As she approached the counter of Ganax Heating, she tried to look as uninterested as possible. "Is Jodee here?" she asked. She stood at the counter, digging her toes into the linoleum floor. The receptionist was a young guy about her age. "Hey, Murphy." She suddenly recognized him. He'd been in her high school English class. He'd occasionally tracked her down at her locker and had used complex vocabulary words while he talked to her, trying to impress her. "I had a huge crush on you. You were really smart." Murphy sighed. She was incredibly bored. "Precognitive, actually." He blinked at her for a moment. "Yeah, you were really good in English." Murphy's usage of SAT-level vocabulary usually halted the moment she got out of class. She had a thing against big words. In her view, they were superfluous. And she hated the word superfluous. "I don't like being liked for my brain," she said.

We are a species that delights in story. We look out on reality, we grasp patterns, and we join them into narratives that can captivate, inform, startle, amuse, and thrill. The plural—narratives—is utterly essential. In the library of human reflection, there is no single, unified volume that conveys ultimate understanding. Instead, we have written many nested stories that probe different domains of human inquiry and experience: stories, that is, that parse the patterns of reality using different grammars and vocabularies. Protons, neutrons, electrons, and nature’s other particles are essential for telling the reductionist story, analyzing the stuff of reality, from planets to Picasso, in terms of their microphysical constituents. Metabolism, replication, mutation, and adaptation are essential for telling the story of life’s emergence and development, analyzing the biochemical workings of remarkable molecules and the cells they govern. Neurons, information, thought, and awareness are essential for the story of mind—and with that the narratives proliferate: myth to religion, literature to philosophy, art to music, telling of humankind’s struggle for survival, will to understand, urge for expression, and search for meaning. These are all ongoing stories, developed by thinkers hailing from a great range of distinct disciplines. Understandably so. A saga that ranges from quarks to consciousness is a hefty chronicle. Still, the different stories are interlaced. Don Quixote speaks to humankind’s yearning for the heroic, told through the fragile Alonso Quijano, a character created in the imagination of Miguel de Cervantes, a living, breathing, thinking, sensing, feeling collection of bone, tissue, and cells that, during his lifetime, supported organic processes of energy transformation and waste excretion, which themselves relied on atomic and molecular movements honed by billions of years of evolution on a planet forged from the detritus of supernova explosions scattered throughout a realm of space emerging from the big bang. Yet to read Don Quixote’s travails is to gain an understanding of human nature that would remain opaque if embedded in a description of the movements of the knight-errant’s molecules and atoms or conveyed through an elaboration of the neuronal processes crackling in Cervantes’s mind while writing the novel. Connected though they surely are, different stories, told with different languages and focused on different levels of reality, provide vastly different insights.

In an episode that now hits a little too close to home given that the word quarantine has become part of our vocabulary over the last few years, Bernadette has an accident at her lab that causes her to be quarantined at the hospital for preventive measures. At first it throws a wrench in Howard’s anniversary plans (he wrote his wife a special song that he was going to perform—with the rest of the gang doing backup vocals), but then they move it to the hospital where he sings it for her on the opposite side of the glass partition walls.

During this decade, one of the most important features of the new Koch Industries was the impervious strength of its corporate veil—the legal barrier that separated Koch’s various divisions. Under the new structure, Koch Industries became little more than a holding company, a big investment firm that owned a lot of smaller, nominally independent firms. And those companies would be strictly segregated from one another, and from Koch central, by a thick wall designed to be legally impenetrable. The corporate veil became reflected in the vocabulary of Koch employees. They didn’t refer to the company’s subsidiaries as units or divisions, but as “companies,” reinforcing the notion that each unit was fully independent. Many of these “companies” developed their own internal systems for human resources, information technology, and other services, creating just the kind of big, redundant systems that most US corporations were striving to eliminate. These redundancies might have cost Koch money, but their value far outstripped the cost. Koch could now argue persuasively that each company division was a stand-alone company, one that could assume its own liabilities. Never again would angry creditors be able to threaten the cash reserves of Koch Industries’ central treasury, as the lawyers from Purina Mills had done. Now liability would only travel to the top of each company that Koch held.

More recently, scholars have used computers to model how the brain’s neural networks behave. These show that, when the condition of child bilingualism is modelled (where two languages are being acquired more or less simultaneously), the network is able to separate out the vocabularies of each language quite comfortably. However, where a second language is overlaid on top of an existing one, there is much less separation. It’s as if the first language ‘blocks’ or ‘overshadows’ the independent establishment of the second. Nick Ellis (2006: 185) sums up the findings: ‘Adult second language simulations show relatively little L1–L2 separation at a local level and maximal transfer and interference.’ This tends to confirm the view that, as one writer put it, ‘second language is looking into the windows cut out by the first language’ (Ushakova 1994: 154).

And just because presents were big didn’t mean they were good. It could be a trashcan or… a broom, like his mom got once from the neighbor. To David, that was like getting a hundred vocabulary words to write.

Yeah. They wake up a couple of times in the night, but, you know, that is the ineffable nature of the young!” I said. This woman was bound to be impressed by what an engaged big sister I was. Also, my vocabulary.

His gaze didn’t stray from my face. “You’re a smart woman, Ella.” “Are you intimidated by a woman with a big vocabulary?” “Hell, yes. Any woman with an IQ higher than room temperature, and I’m gone. Unless she’s paying for dinner.” “I could play dumb and you could pay for dinner,” I offered. “Too late. You already used a five-syllable word.” -Jack & Ella

Thus, Lindstromberg and Boers (2005), drawing on research into L1 vocabulary learning that shows that acting out word meanings helps children increase their vocabularies, demonstrated that learners remember verbs better not only when they enact them, but when they watch their classmates enact them. As Holme (ibid.) puts it: ‘The body can be rethought as the expressive instrument of the language that must be learned.

1 How many words do learners need to know? In a recent article in The Guardian, Joshua Foer (2012) describes how he learned Lingala (a trade language of sub-Saharan Africa), and discovered the value of having a critical mass of vocabulary: It goes without saying that memorizing the 1,000 most common words in Lingala, French or Chinese is not going

vocabularies’ that the learners need to acquire: the 6,000+ high-frequency lexical words (and chunks) that provide the threshold into fluency, and the 150 or so common functors that cement these lexical words together.   Questions for discussion 1. Have you had a language learning experience that confirms Foer’s intuitions about the value of a core vocabulary? 2. If lack of sufficient vocabulary is the main impediment to reading fluency, what are the implications, for the teacher of reading, on materials choice and task design? 3. What approaches could you use to teach

word families (as opposed to individual words)? 4. What are the implications for course design and methodology of reversing the traditional order of grammar first, then vocabulary? 5. Widdowson talks about showing how words ‘need to be grammatically modified to be communicatively effective’. How would you go about doing this? 6. Frequency is commonly mentioned as a criterion for vocabulary selection. What other criteria are there? Is there a case for letting the learners decide which words to learn? 7. If verb tenses are simply combinations of high-frequency words, is there really such a thing as grammar at all (as distinct from vocabulary)? If not, what does this suggest

Certainly, it seems that having a large vocabulary is a pre-requisite for proficiency in the receptive skills. As Bhatia Laufer (1997: 31) puts it: ‘By far the greatest lexical obstacle to good reading is insufficient number of words in the learner’s lexicon. [In research studies] lexis was found to be the best predictor of success in reading, better than syntax or general reading ability.’ How many words, then, are sufficient to push learners over the threshold, beyond which texts start to make sense? In the 1990s, the bar was set at around 90 percent, i.e. comfortable reading could be achieved if 90 percent of the words in any given text were familiar to the reader. Ninety percent represents a receptive vocabulary of around 3,000 words. Since then, the figure has crept inexorably upward. But the

are both part of the same overall process’. Joshua Foer’s experience (ibid.) would seem to corroborate this view: [a] basic vocabulary gives you a scaffolding to which you can attach other words as you hear them. It also lays down the raw data from which you can begin to detect the patterns that define a language’s grammar. As I memorized words in Lingala, I started to notice that there were relationships between them. The verb to work is kosala. The noun for work is mosala. A tool is esaleli. A workshop is an esalelo. At first, this was all white noise to me. But as I packed my memory with more and more words, these connections

This is the problem – it seems to me – of memorizing literature. If we assume that a core vocabulary of some 3,000 high-frequency words is the threshold that enables non-specialist language comprehension and production, literature alone is unlikely to provide that core – or, rather, it eventually will, but a great deal of low-frequency vocabulary may have been traversed in the meantime. More useful – although perhaps less satisfying from an aesthetic point of view – might be the memorization of specially written dialogues that embed high-frequency lexis, including formulaic language, with a ‘high surrender’ value.

This suggests to me that there are two ‘vocabularies’ that the learners need to acquire: the 6,000+ high-frequency lexical words (and chunks) that provide the threshold into fluency, and the 150 or so common functors that cement these lexical words together.

I reached for my purse which I’d hung on the back of the chair.  Desperate, Scott moved to grab my hand.  Clay stood abruptly.  He successfully knocked Scott’s hand out of the way but also bumped the table in the process.  Peter reached out to steady his and Rachel’s drinks, and I hurried to pull a twenty from my purse. The waitress returned with the bill and the wrapped up leftovers.  Since Rachel was still digging in her purse, I just handed the waitress the twenty after a quick glance at the bill.  I was willing to pay for Rachel if it helped us leave faster. “I better drive her home,” Rachel said to Peter.  “You have my number.  Give me a call if you want to do something next weekend.” I stood, and Rachel shadowed me, ready to go.  Clay bumped into me, knocking me off balance so I had to grab Rachel for support.  I looked down at him and noticed Scott stand and hand the waitress his portion of the bill. “Rachel, you can stay with Peter.  I don’t mind taking Gabby home,” Scott said.  Oily enthusiasm dripped with each word, and I didn’t even need to look at Rachel for her to decline. “No, Scott, I think we’re done for tonight.”  She waved to Peter and grabbed my hand. Poor Peter looked at us all, bewildered.  His night out with Rachel had fallen apart fast, and I truly felt bad about it. I went with Rachel, relieved to escape before Scott’s recklessness grew.  An “oof” sounded behind us, and I panicked, realizing I’d forgotten Clay.  I spun around in time to see Scott hit the ground.  He’d tripped over Clay in his hurry to catch me.  I suspected Clay had done it purposely to slow Scott down. Clay wasted no time.  He ran to me and bumped his head against my back to get me moving before Scott could pick himself up again.  There wasn’t yet enough distance between the table and us to mute Peter’s next words. “What the hell is wrong with you, man?  You come on too...”  What he still had to say faded as we quickly walked away. “I’m sorry,” Rachel said.  “You told me, but I didn’t really get it.  Even the men sitting around us were eyeing you.” I’d been too busy keeping an eye on Scott and Clay to notice.  We continued to speed walk to the car. “No big deal.  You should see me in some of my classes.  ‘No’ is the most common word in my vocabulary. Scott’s reaction was worse than most because he already considered me his date.  If you say ‘no’, consistently and to everyone, it doesn’t get so bad.

All of us possess a reading vocabulary as big as a lake but draw from a writing vocabulary as small as a pond.

Wow.” “You’ve got quite the vocabulary.” “Never use a big word when a small one will suffice.” “I could make a crack here, but I won’t.

We live in a goal-oriented era. Our media vocabulary is full of hot takes, big ideas, and grand theories of everything. But some time ago I rejected magic in all its forms...In accepting both the chaos of history and the fact of my total end, I was freed to truly consider how i wished to live - specifically, how do I live free in this black body? It is a profound question because America understands itself as God's handwork, but the black body is the clearest evidence that America is the work of men.

to make anyone a fluent speaker. That would have been an unrealistic goal. But it turns out to be just enough vocabulary to let you hit the ground running once you’re authentically immersed in a language. This reminded me of the anecdote that opens an article I wrote on the lexical approach (Thornbury 1998: 7): A New Zealand friend of mine who is studying Maori asked me recently what I, as a language teacher, would make of his teacher’s method: ‘We just do masses of words – around a theme, for example, family, or food, etc. We have to learn these words before the next lesson. Then we come back and have a

target still seems achievable. For example, Eldridge et al. (2010: 82) investigated the vocabulary needs of learners who are studying school subjects in a second language, and found that the evidence ‘suggests a distinct lexical threshold of around 1,600–1,700 of the most frequent word families.’ (A word family is a group of words that share the same root but have different affixes, as in care, careful, careless, carefree, uncaring, carer; 1,600 to 1,700 word families represent around 6,000 individual words.) They add that ‘students who fall even 200 or 300 word families below the threshold seem to have a vastly reduced vocabulary in total and consequently find it extremely difficult to cope with content studies in the medium of English.

Setting the bar at even 2,000 word families means learning 20 word families a week over two years, starting from zero: a daunting task, but not an impossible one. Nor a thankless one. There are grounds for believing that vocabulary size may be a reliable predictor, not just of reading proficiency, but of linguistic competence overall. Certainly, in first language acquisition, the processes of vocabulary development and grammar emergence are closely intertwined, with the former possibly driving the latter. Tomasello (2003: 93), for example, cites research that shows that ‘only after children have vocabularies of several hundred words [do] they begin to produce in earnest grammatical speech’, which suggests to him ‘that learning words and learning grammatical constructions

started to make sense and I began to notice the same grammatical formulas elsewhere – and could even pick them up in conversation. All in all, this suggests that the learner needs to assemble as big a lexicon as possible, and as soon as possible – even if this means putting other areas of language learning, such as the learning of grammar, ‘on hold’. The idea is not new. Over two decades ago, Henry Widdowson (1990: 95) challenged the then current (and still current) pedagogical approach whereby grammatical structures are taught first, and vocabulary is slotted into them: ‘I would suggest that the more natural and more effective approach would be to reverse this traditional pedagogic dependency,

She was struck by how mostly slim white people got off at the stops in Manhattan and, as the train went further into Brooklyn, the people left were mostly black and fat. She had not thought of them as "fat," though. She had thought of them as "big," because one of the first things her friend Ginika told her was that "fat" in America was a bad word, heaving with moral judgement like "stupid" or "bastard," and not a mere description like "short" or "tall." So she had banished "fat" from her vocabulary.

I do love a man with a big vocabulary.

Remember, only fifty words makes the difference between a rich, creative vocabulary and an average, middle-of-the-road one. Substitute a word a day for two months and you'll be in the verbally elite.

a circumscribed, encapsulated weakness is often surrounded by a Sea of Strengths: reasoning, problem-solving, understanding concepts, critical thinking, empathy, and vocabulary. The phonologic weakness masks what are often excellent thinking and comprehension skills. Dyslexics like Gregory use the “big picture” of

Large and obscure words tax mental resources too much, interrupting you from making your point and disconnecting you from your audience. That’s why simplicity in speech is valued and used by people in the most important fields, like tech and politics.

The God that I had grown up with was gone now. At that point, my understanding of God was probably one of the most immature things about me. I probably had a plastic Jesus, buddy-God, good-luck-charm God—or I spoke enough of the vocabulary but really I was just parroting.… Somehow I thought certain things were birthrights instead of blessings. There is a big difference between being abandoned by God and being betrayed by your own immature understanding of God.

This may be the fundamental problem with caring a lot about what others think: It can put you on the established path—the my-isn’t-that-impressive path—and keep you there for a long time. Maybe it stops you from swerving, from ever even considering a swerve, because what you risk losing in terms of other people’s high regard can feel too costly. Maybe you spend three years in Massachusetts, studying constitutional law and discussing the relative merits of exclusionary vertical agreements in antitrust cases. For some, this might be truly interesting, but for you it is not. Maybe during those three years you make friends you’ll love and respect forever, people who seem genuinely called to the bloodless intricacies of the law, but you yourself are not called. Your passion stays low, yet under no circumstance will you underperform. You live, as you always have, by the code of effort/result, and with it you keep achieving until you think you know the answers to all the questions—including the most important one. Am I good enough? Yes, in fact I am. What happens next is that the rewards get real. You reach for the next rung of the ladder, and this time it’s a job with a salary in the Chicago offices of a high-end law firm called Sidley & Austin. You’re back where you started, in the city where you were born, only now you go to work on the forty-seventh floor in a downtown building with a wide plaza and a sculpture out front. You used to pass by it as a South Side kid riding the bus to high school, peering mutely out the window at the people who strode like titans to their jobs. Now you’re one of them. You’ve worked yourself out of that bus and across the plaza and onto an upward-moving elevator so silent it seems to glide. You’ve joined the tribe. At the age of twenty-five, you have an assistant. You make more money than your parents ever have. Your co-workers are polite, educated, and mostly white. You wear an Armani suit and sign up for a subscription wine service. You make monthly payments on your law school loans and go to step aerobics after work. Because you can, you buy yourself a Saab. Is there anything to question? It doesn’t seem that way. You’re a lawyer now. You’ve taken everything ever given to you—the love of your parents, the faith of your teachers, the music from Southside and Robbie, the meals from Aunt Sis, the vocabulary words drilled into you by Dandy—and converted it to this. You’ve climbed the mountain. And part of your job, aside from parsing abstract intellectual property issues for big corporations, is to help cultivate the next set of young lawyers being courted by the firm. A senior partner asks if you’ll mentor an incoming summer associate, and the answer is easy: Of course you will. You have yet to understand the altering force of a simple yes. You don’t know that when a memo arrives to confirm the assignment, some deep and unseen fault line in your life has begun to tremble, that some hold is already starting to slip. Next to your name is another name, that of some hotshot law student who’s busy climbing his own ladder. Like you, he’s black and from Harvard. Other than that, you know nothing—just the name, and it’s an odd one. Barack.

Here’s my contribution...” This statement works in multiple contexts, including those where bragging is not highly regarded and when pointing out your contributions to a team project. If someone claims your work, you might also use statements such as “I appreciate [name] adding to my thinking” or “I’m glad we’re on the same page. My original thinking is that...” “People tell me that...” This softens a brag, as you’ve put it in the third person. “I’m proud to have supported my client by...” This is a softer version of “I did this...” “It’s a privilege to have...” Other variations of this include “I was excited when...,” “I was honored by...,” and “I appreciate...” Banish the statements “It was really a team effort” and “It wasn’t a big deal” from your vocabulary. It’s also stronger to talk about accomplishments rather than effort. I asked Whitney Johnson, who is recognized as one of the world’s foremost executive coaches, what she recommends her clients say when they’re having trouble bragging. One suggestion of particular note is: I know it might feel odd for me to talk to you about what I do well because society has taught us to not like women who do. But now I’m going to, so that you will know that I can do the work you are thinking of hiring me to do.

USE THESE TOOLS AND THINK CREATIVELY 1. Believe it can be done. When you believe something can be done, your mind will find the ways to do it. Believing a solution paves the way to solution. Eliminate “impossible,” “won’t work,” “can’t do,” “no use trying” from your thinking and speaking vocabularies. 2. Don’t let tradition paralyze your mind. Be receptive to new ideas. Be experimental. Try new approaches. Be progressive in everything you do. 3. Ask yourself daily, “How can I do better?” There is no limit to self-improvement. When you ask yourself, “How can I do better?” sound answers will appear. Try it and see. 4. Ask yourself, “How can I do more?” Capacity is a state of mind. Asking yourself this question puts your mind to work to find intelligent shortcuts. The success combination in business is: Do what you do better (improve the quality of your output), and: Do more of what you do (increase the quantity of your output). 5. Practice asking and listening. Ask and listen, and you’ll obtain raw material for reaching sound decisions. Remember: Big people monopolize the listening; small people monopolize the talking. 6. Stretch your mind. Get stimulated. Associate with people who can help you think of new ideas, new ways of doing things. Mix with people of different occupational and social interests.

All those three-step things really do work,” said Amy Emberling, a managing partner at Zingerman’s Bakehouse, “but they also gave us a language we could use to talk to each other. Everyone in the different businesses had the same vocabulary, which helped create the culture in the community as a whole.

Don’t get me wrong,” continued Jenna, “I have nothing against people with good working vocabularies. I’d like to think I have one. And sometimes a less common word needs to be used to convey a nuance, or achieve a necessary level of precision. But if something can be said simply, it should be. Using big words isn’t impressive. Getting points across simply, succinctly, but with great clarity is.

Mad is an everyday, ordinary word. It is compact. It fits into songs. As the old Hindi film song has it, M-A-D, mad mane paagal. It can become a phrase-'Maddaw-what?' which began life as 'Are you mad or what?'. It can be everything you choose it to be: a mad whirl, a mad idea, a mad March day, a mad heiress, a mad mad mad mad world, a mad passion, a mad hatter, a mad dog. But it is different when you have a mad mother. Then the word wakes up from time to time and blinks at you, eyes of fire. But only sometimes, for we used the word casually ourselves, children of a mad mother. There is no automatic gift that arises out of such a circumstance. If sensitivity or gentleness came with such a genetic load, there would be no old people in mental homes.

Descriptions of such experiences always sound a little thin, at least when compared with the emotional impact people are trying to convey; for a life-transforming event, the words can seem paltry. When I mentioned this to Richards, he smiled. “You have to imagine a caveman transported into the middle of Manhattan. He sees buses, cell phones, skyscrapers, airplanes. Then zap him back to his cave. What does he say about the experience? ‘It was big, it was impressive, it was loud.’ He doesn’t have the vocabulary for ‘skyscraper,’ ‘elevator,’ ‘cell phone.’ Maybe he has an intuitive sense there was some sort of significance or order to the scene. But there are words we need that don’t yet exist. We’ve got five crayons when we need fifty thousand different shades. Michael Pollan - How to Change Your Mind: What the New Science of Psychedelics Teaches Us About Consciousness, Dying, Addiction, Depression, and Transcendence

The law gave me an entirely new vocabulary, a language that non-lawyers derisively referred to as "legalese." Unlike the basic building blocks- the day-to-day words- that got me from the subway to the office and back, the words of my legal vocabulary, more often than not, triggered flavors that I had experienced after leaving Boiling Springs, flavors that I had chosen for myself, derived from foods that were never contained within the boxes and the cans of DeAnne's kitchen. Subpoenakiwifruit. InjunctionCamembert. Infringementlobster. Jurisdictionfreshgreenbeans. Appellantsourdoughbread. ArbitrationGuinness. Unconstitutionalasparagus. ExculpatoryNutella. I could go on and on, and I did. Every day I was paid an astonishing amount of money to shuffle these words around on paper and, better yet, to say them aloud. At my yearly reviews, the partners I worked for commented that they had never seen a young lawyer so visibly invigorated by her work. One of the many reasons I was on track to make partner, I thought. There were, of course, the rare and disconnecting exceptions. Some legal words reached back to the Dark Ages of my childhood and to the stunted diet that informed my earlier words. "Mitigating," for example, brought with it the unmistakable taste of elementary school cafeteria pizzas: rectangles of frozen dough topped with a ketchup-like sauce, the hard crumbled meat of some unidentifiable animal, and grated "cheese" that didn't melt when heated but instead retained the pattern of a badly crocheted coverlet. I had actually looked forward to the days when these rectangles were on the lunch menu, slapped onto my tray by the lunch ladies in hairnets and comfortable shoes. Those pizzas (even the word itself was pure exuberance with the two z's and the sound of satisfaction at the end... ah!) were evocative of some greater, more interesting locale, though how and where none of us at Boiling Springs Elementary circa 1975 were quite sure. We all knew what hamburgers and hot dogs were supposed to look and taste like, and we knew that the school cafeteria served us a second-rate version of these foods. Few of us students knew what a pizza was supposed to be. Kelly claimed that it was usually very big and round in shape, but both of these characteristics seemed highly improbable to me. By the time we were in middle school, a Pizza Inn had opened up along the feeder road to I-85. The Pizza Inn may or may not have been the first national chain of pizzerias to offer a weekly all-you-can-eat buffet. To the folks of the greater Boiling Springs-Shelby area, this was an idea that would expand their waistlines, if not their horizons. A Sizzler would later open next to the Pizza Inn (feeder road took on a new connotation), and it would offer the Holy Grail of all-you-can-eat buffets: steaks, baked potatoes, and, for the ladies, a salad bar complete with exotic fixings such as canned chickpeas and a tangle of slightly bruised alfalfa sprouts. Along with "mitigating," these were some of the other legal words that also transported me back in time: Egressredvelvetcake. PerpetuityFrenchsaladdressing. Compensatoryboiledpeanuts. ProbateReese'speanutbuttercup. FiduciaryCheerwine. AmortizationOreocookie.

a dominant class enforces rules about what is and is not acceptable. It defines good art, good food, good books—and creates an exclusionary vocabulary for describing them

We call it a “full moon,” or a “crescent moon,” etc., but the moon never changes its shape. We just see it from a different angle, and that changes everything. ● ☐ ● Of course we know the moon doesn’t change shape! The point is just to notice how our vocabulary around something makes us “see” it a certain way.

„You know, one of these days, I`m going to think of a very embarrassing nickname for you, and then you`ll be sorry and beg for mercy, but I shan`t give you any.” Ema turns to me and fans herself. „He just said shan`t. I love a man with a big vocabulary.

I began to wonder about my own church, which has its godly share of hospitable, big-hearted people. But Presbyterian worship, even in small towns such as mine, presumes a high degree of literacy; each Sunday’s bulletin contains new and often lengthy prayers to be read aloud. I wondered if many of these people would feel welcome there, as reading is such a struggle for them. And as I looked around that room I kept thinking: Kathleen, these are the people Jesus says will be first in the kingdom. And I had a kind of vision of all of us coming together, bearing our different wounds, offering differing gifts. The preachers, prophets, healers, and discerners of spirits. Those who can describe the faith and those who can only live it. Those who speak in tongues, and those who interpret. Those who write, and those who sing. Those who have knowledge, and those who are wise only in the sight of God. Each of us poor and in need of love, yet rich in spirit. Each of us speaking in the language we know, and being understood. Pentecost, indeed.

Commit to mastering three to four new words every day. People with a rich vocabulary seldom have trouble articulating their views and display greater confidence while talking to people. The difference between a functional vocabulary and extensive vocabulary can be the difference between a black and white and vivid, colorful picture. Paint a picture with your words to make the conversation more interesting and compelling. Stay away from redundant words and phrases. Avoid using conversation fillers. Keep your sentences short, crisp and to the point. Do not use the most highfalutin words to flaunt your vocabulary. Instead be an effective communicator by using words that convey your ideas and feelings most appropriately. Less is always more in a conversation. Try to say more by using less yet effective words and phrases. Think of better and more articulate ways to convey your emotions and ideas, For example, you can say “famished” in place of “very hungry” or “livid” instead of “very angry or upset.” Try to convey your ideas using more effective words. Replace redundant words and phrases in your daily conversations. For example, instead of saying, “They said xyz about my looks” say “they commented on my looks.” The idea is to make your speech crisper, more articulate and tighter by replacing ineffectual words/phrases with more meaningful expressions. Everyday words and phrases such as “big” can become “gigantic,” “massive” or “colossal.” Similarly, scared can become “petrified” and “spooked,” hungry become “famished” and so on. Consciously think of more effective ways to convey the same meaning. This practice will make you come across as a more engaging, interesting and vibrant conversationalist. A richer and more power-packed vocabulary lends more character, feelings and sensory experiences to the conversation. The way to go about it is – Use a diary or notebook for listing new words and phrases you come across each day. You can also randomly pick three new words to learn from the dictionary every day, and try to use it in your speech or conversation. Install ‘word a day’ applications on your phones to keep enriching your vocabulary. It’s a work in progress. You’ll never know everything. Even if you believe you have a limited vocabulary or aren’t able to hold a conversation because you don’t know how best to express yourself, breathe easy. There are plenty of ways to build a powerful vocabulary if you have the initiative.

Other youngsters in town sometimes thought I was 'putting on airs' when I used words they didn't know. The problem was, I honestly didn't know which words those were.

The best sentences are not those that are built from obscure words, but those whose meanings create ripples in our imagination that go beyond the words they contain.

I angled my chin high into the air, and I asked dryly, “I do realize you are a shifter, but for future reference, will all of your metaphors involve animals? Or shall I buy you a book of big kid words to improve your vocabulary?

Some people say that there’s no reason to learn big words in the first place—all that matters is knowing what things do, not what they’re called. I don’t think that’s always true. To really learn about things, you need help from other peo- ple, and if you want to understand those people, you need to know what they mean by the words they use. You also need to know what things are called so you can ask questions about them.

Some people say that there’s no reason to learn big words in the first place—all that matters is knowing what things do, not what they’re called. I don’t think that’s always true. To really learn about things, you need help from other people, and if you want to understand those people, you need to know what they mean by the words they use. You also need to know what things are called so you can ask questions about them.

Virtually every time Sesame Street’s educational value has been tested — and the show has been subject to more academic scrutiny than any television show in history — it has been proved to improve the reading and learning skills of its viewers. Most recently, a group of researchers at the University of Massachusetts and the University of Kansas went back and recontacted close to 600 children whose television watching as preschoolers they had tracked back in the 1980s. The kids were now all in high school, and the researchers found — to their astonishment — that the kids who had watched Sesame Street the most as four- and five-year-olds were still doing better in school than those who didn’t. Even after controlling for things like parent’s education, family size, and preschool vocabulary level, the Sesame Street watchers did better in high school in English, math, and science and they were also much more likely to read books for leisure than those who didn’t watch the show, or who watched the show less. According to the study, for every hour per week of Sesame Street viewing, high-school grade point averages increased by .052, which means that a child who watched five hours of Sesame Street a week at age five was earning, on average, about one quarter of a grade level higher than a child of similar background who never watched the show. Somehow a single television show an hour long, watched over the course of no more than two or three years, was still making a difference twelve and fifteen years later.

Granny considered herself something of an expert on minds. She was pretty certain things like countries didn’t have minds. They weren’t even alive, for goodness sake. A country was, well, was— Hold on. Hold on . . . A thought stole gently into Granny’s mind and sheepishly tried to attract her attention. There was a way in which those brooding forests could have a mind. Granny sat up, a piece of antique loaf in her hand, and gazed speculatively at the fireplace. Her mind’s eye looked through it, out at the snow-filled aisles of trees. Yes. It had never occurred to her before. Of course, it’d be a mind made up of all the other little minds inside it; plant minds, bird minds, bear minds, even the great slow minds of the trees themselves . . . She sat down in her rocking chair, which started to rock all by itself. She’d often thought of the forest as a sprawling creature, but only metterforically, as a wizard would put it; drowsy and purring with bumblebees in the summer, roaring and raging in autumn gales, curled in on itself and sleeping in the winter. It occurred to her that in addition to being a collection of other things, the forest was a thing in itself. Alive, only not alive in the way that, say, a shrew was alive. And much slower. That would have to be important. How fast did a forest’s heart beat? Once a year, maybe. Yes, that sounded about right. Out there the forest was waiting for the brighter sun and longer days that would pump a million gallons of sap several hundred feet into the sky in one great systolic thump too big and loud to be heard. And it was at about this point that Granny bit her lip. She’d just thought the word “systolic,” and it certainly wasn’t in her vocabulary. Somebody was inside her head with her. Some thing.

Emmanuel Lartey was the first person to reveal the counternarrative in the story of Babel to me. I saw his name in the program of a big religion conference where he was scheduled to speak about “polydoxy,” a word that was not in my vocabulary then and is not in my dictionary now. Lartey is a distinguished professor of pastoral theology who was raised in Ghana, which helps explain why he used the lens of colonialism to retell the story of Babel. That was the hill he climbed to see the story anew. The way he reimagined the story of Babel, it was not about God’s judgment on diversity but God’s judgment on the dominance of one people, with one language, whose wish to make a name for themselves took over their lives. God saved them by confusing their language, so they could not complete their domination project. God defused their hegemony and scattered them like hot ashes, so their ambitious fire would not spread. In this telling, the moral of the story is that God favors the diversity of many peoples over the dominance of any one people. I could not write down what Professor Lartey was saying fast enough to keep up, so I hope if he ever reads this, he says, “Close enough.

The future of our cities has fallen between these cracks, remaining stagnant as municipal governments plan big—sometimes too big—and urban communities routinely oppose changes in the status quo by thinking small—sometimes too small. What both parties lack, first, is a vision for how streets can support the life and vitality of both neighborhoods and the city as a whole, and, second, a shared vocabulary to identify and reach that vision amid mutual distrust.

She was such a fucked-up word nerd getting turned on by a big vocabulary.