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Just passed a colleague in the hallway, noted my feeling of apprehension about today. What does it tell you, he asked? I don't read tea-leaves, I said.
But I do know this: words, despite all their limitations and misdirections, do matter. They're our testament, they record our dreams and aspirations. And apprehensions.
"Language is the archives of history, and, if we must say it, a sort of tomb of the muses. For, though the orgin of most of our words is forgotten, each word was at first a stroke of genius, and obtained currency, because for the moment it symbolized the world to the first speaker and to the hearer. The etymologist finds the deadest word to have been once a brilliant picture.” — Ralph Waldo Emerson, Essays: Second Series
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