Weather is a literary specialty, and no untrained hand can turn out a good article on it
Mark TwainRead
What is the real function, the essential function, the supreme function, of language? Isn't it merely to convey ideas and emotions? Certainly. Then if we can do it with words of fonetic brevity and compactness, why keep the present cumbersome forms?
Interpretation
The quote questions the complexity of language, suggesting it should focus on clarity and efficiency in conveying ideas and emotions.
In this quote, Mark Twain challenges the traditional views of language by asking about its primary purpose. He argues that language should serve the essential function of conveying thoughts and feelings in a clear and concise manner. If simpler, more efficient words can achieve this, then there is little reason to cling to more complicated forms of expression. This reflection on language encourages efficiency and clarity over verbosity.
In practice
During a speech about the importance of effective communication in business.
Weather is a literary specialty, and no untrained hand can turn out a good article on it
The easy part of being an artist is figuring out the message that everyone else is ready to hear. The hard part is waiting for the proper lull to make the announcement.
You can't reason with your heart; it has its own laws, and thumps about things which the intellect scorns.
To be good is noble; but to show others how to be good is nobler and no trouble.
Name the greatest of all inventors. Accident.
In Paris they just simply opened their eyes and stared when we spoke to them in French! We never did succeed in making those idiots understand their own language.
Dislike what deserves it, but never hate: for that is of the nature of malice; which is almost ever to persons, not things, and is one of the blackest qualities sin begets in the soul.
Faith is not a refuge from reality. It is a demand that we face reality ... The true subject matter of religion is not our own little souls, but the Eternal God and His whole mysterious purpose, and our solemn responsibility to Him.
Your skin is prickly from fatigue and pain and there is a hissing in your ears. Time passes and the pills are taking hold like a glowing white planet coming into view. A reverse eclipse. And you watch with your eyes closed. The white planet is half exposed, it grips your heart in its light and seems to be pulling you forward and now you feel that you are falling. You are awake but dreaming. "The earth is not beautiful but the universe is," you say.
The gift of language is the single human trait that marks us all genetically, setting us apart from the rest of life.
And all these questions I ask myself. It is not in a spirit of curiosity. I cannot be silent. About myself I need know nothing. Here all is clear. No, all is not clear. But the discourse must go on. So one invents obscurities. Rhetoric.
Those have a short Lent who owe money to be paid at Easter.
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