"Fifteen Thousand Useful Phrases" - читать интересную книгу автора (Grenville Kleiser)

extension" activities. "Safety-first" had a long run which was brought
almost to abrupt end by "strict accountability," but these are mere
reflections of our cosmopolitan life and activities. There are others that
stand out as indicators of brain-weariness. These are most frequently met
in the work of our novelists.

English authors and journalists are abusing and overworking the word
intrigue to-day. Sir Arthur Quillercouch on page 81 of his book "On the
Art of Writing" uses it: "We are intrigued by the process of manufacture
instead of being wearied by a description of the ready-made article." Mrs.
Sidgwick in "Salt and Savour," page 232, wrote: "But what intrigued her
was Little Mamma's remark at breakfast," From the Parliamentary news, one
learns that "Mr. Harcourt intrigued the House of Commons by his sustained
silence for two years" and that "London is interested in, and not a little
intrigued, by the statement." This use of intrigue in the sense of
"perplex, puzzle, trick, or deceive" dates from 1600. Then it fell into a
state of somnolence, and after an existence of innocuous desuetude lasting
till 1794 it was revived, only to hibernate again until 1894. It owes its
new lease of life to a writer on The Westminster Gazette, a London journal
famous for its competitions in aid of the restoring of the dead meanings
of words.

One is almost exasperated by the repeated use and abuse of the word
"intimate" in a recently published work of fiction, by an author who
aspires to the first rank in his profession. He writes of "the intimate
dimness of the room;" "a fierce intimate whispering;" "a look that was
intimate;" "the noise of the city was intimate," etc. Who has not heard,
"The idea!" "What's the idea?" "Is that the idea?" "Yes, that's the idea,"
with increased inflection at each repetition. And who is without a friend
who at some time or another has not sprung "meticulous" upon him? Another
example is afforded by the endemic use of "of sorts" which struck London
while the writer was in that city a few years ago. Whence it came no one
knew, but it was heard on every side. "She was a woman of sorts;" "he is a
Tory of sorts;" "he had a religion of sorts;" "he was a critic of sorts."
While it originally meant "of different or various kinds," as hats of
sorts; offices of sorts; cheeses of sorts, etc., it is now used
disparagingly, and implies something of a kind that is not satisfactory,
or of a character that is rather poor. This, as Shakespeare might have
said, is "Sodden business! There's a stewed phrase indeed!" [Footnote:
Troilus and Cressida, act iii, sc. 1.]

The abuse of phrases and the misuse of words rife among us can be checked
by diligent exercises in good English, such as this book provides. These
exercises, in conjunction with others to be found in different volumes by
the same author, will serve to correct careless diction and slovenly
speech, and lead to the art of speaking and writing correctly; for, after
all, accuracy in the use of words is more a matter of habit than of
theory, and once it is acquired it becomes just as easy to speak or to
write good English as bad English. It was Chesterfield's resolution not to
speak a word in conversation which was not the fittest he could recall.