Whether you’re describing a polite person, talking about the lovely morning you had in the park, or reacting to a home run hit by your favorite baseball player, it’s appropriate to bust out the word “nice.” But at the same time, “nice” is such a common adjective that it often fails to stand out or paint a full picture. Let’s look at 9 sharper alternatives to “nice” that are even, well, nicer.

When talking about a polite individual, you could call them decorous — meaning “marked by propriety and good taste.” It’s a word that originated in the mid-17th century from the Latin decorus, meaning “fitting, proper.” One of the term’s earliest uses is in the 1671 text The Rules of Civility, in which it was used to decry public primping as impolite.

Someone who’s polite could  also be described as congenial, which means “pleasant” or “sociable.” The origins of this term are spiritual in nature — according to ancient myth, a person was assigned a guardian spirit (referred to in Latin as a genius) at birth. If two people got along well, they were thought to share similar spirits. This belief gave rise to the word “congenial,” which combines the Latin prefix com- (meaning “together”) and genius.

When listening to tunes, you can say, “That’s a nice song,” or “That’s a nice rhythm.” But you can also use the word “dulcet,” as in, “That’s a dulcet melody.” Dulcet” means “pleasing to the ear.” It comes from the Latin dulcis, meaning “sweet,” and when it came into English in the 15th century, it was used to describe literal sweetness, as in the sweetness of candy. Nowadays, “dulcet” is primarily used in the figurative sense.

Sometimes the word “nice” is used when something is just so-so. If a meal is enjoyable but not particularly memorable, you could describe it as palatable. This adjective, meaning “agreeable to the palate or taste,” comes from the word “palate,” which refers to both the roof of the mouth as well as a person’s sense of taste.

In Yiddish, a mensch is “a person of integrity and honor.” It comes from the German mensch, literally meaning “man,” and it has been used in its positive context since the mid-19th century. So if you’re in the presence of a nice person, it’s apt to refer to them as “menschy.”

The word “genteel” can be substituted for “nice” in a few ways. The term’s origins date back to the 1590s, from the French gentil, meaning “graceful, pleasing.” But you can also trace it back to the Old French gentil, meaning “noble.” Today, you can use “genteel” to describe either someone who’s pleasant to be around, or someone who is of a more formal and aristocratic quality.

When someone is kind and gracious, they can be described as “amiable.” This term has roots in the Latin noun amīcus, meaning “friend,” and the verb amare, meaning “to love.” “Amiable” was adopted by English speakers in the 14th century, though it originally meant “pleasing.” It came to mean “friendly” centuries later.

One who’s affable is typically pleasing to be around and easy to talk to. This term came into English in the 15th century from the Latin affārī, meaning “to speak to.”

Someone who’s unobjectionable simply can’t be objected to. Think of the nicest person you know — someone whom everyone loves and who never gets on anyone’s bad side. They’re a perfect example of an unobjectionable individual, as others will have a hard time finding flaws in their demeanor.

English is a remarkably rich language, containing at least 1 million words — although the exact number is something that linguists can argue about ad infinitum (to use an appropriately neutral Latin phrase). Among those 1 million are some truly beautiful words — from “mellifluous” to “sonorous,” and “ethereal” to “ephemeral.” 

But English certainly isn’t alone when it comes to wonderful words. The world is full of living languages — more than 7,000 of them — and each one has its fair share of words whose meanings contain a certain something that raises them above the rest. Here are some of the most beautiful words from languages found across the globe. 

The Japanese word yūgen refers to something akin to a profound awareness of the universe that creates emotions too complex and mysterious for words. The meaning can change depending on the context, but it typically involves a feeling both subtle and deep — something we might experience while watching the sun sink slowly behind a mountain, or a flock of birds disappearing into the clouds. 

The German word fernweh has no direct equivalent in English but translates literally as “far-sickness” or “far-pain.” It refers to the ache we sometimes feel for distant places, or the longing to travel and explore. It’s kind of like having itchy feet (but with added emotions) mixed with the concept of wanderlust — which is itself a German loanword. 

The Spanish word sobremesa literally means “upon the table,” but it has a deeper cultural significance. It refers to the time spent lingering at the table after a meal has ended — a time of prolonged chatting, laughing, and enjoying the company of others without any great purpose or hurry. 

Amani means “peace” or “tranquility” in the Bantu language Swahili, but it also conveys a deeper sense of calm, tranquility, harmony, and cosmic balance. It’s often used in greetings, prayers, and blessings. 

When you pour your heart and soul into something that you are making or doing, that is meraki. Greeks often use it in relation to cooking, but it can apply equally to any art or craft that is done with devoted attention. 

A cornerstone of Japanese aesthetics, wabi-sabi is the finding of beauty in imperfection, impermanence, and incompleteness. It can be found everywhere: in the cracked glaze on a tea bowl, the weathered grain of old wood, or the beautiful asymmetry of a hand-thrown pot. These are seen not as flaws to be fixed but rather as evidence of time and the natural order of things — reminding us that nothing is perfect or permanent. 

This magnificent German compound word combines Wald (“forest”) and Einsamkeit (“solitude”) to describe the feeling of being alone in the woods. Waldeinsamkeit is not loneliness, but a peaceful, enlightened, and sublime feeling of being alone and yet part of something vast and ancient. 

The Japanese word aware translates roughly to “pathos” or “poignancy,” but with an extra level of deep emotional sensitivity. It can suggest an appreciation of ephemeral beauty — a feeling of being moved, almost to tears, by something transient and lovely. It is part of the Japanese concept mono no aware, meaning “the pathos of things” or “an empathy toward things.” 

Pili-pala simply means “butterfly” in Welsh. It doesn’t have any greater meaning or profound metaphorical significance — it’s just very fun to say. 

It’s hard to find a more beautiful word in Brazilian Portuguese than cafuné — the act of running your fingers gently through someone’s hair or caressing a loved one’s head. It’s an extremely expressive word, filled with the intimacy, care, and loving quietness found between people who are completely at ease with each other.

The French verb flâner means “to wander aimlessly through a city” — but it’s often more than simply strolling or sauntering. The wanderer — the philosophical flâneur — tends to have no destination but absorbs everything, belonging everywhere and nowhere all at once. 

This evocative Swedish word describes the wavy, road-like reflection that the moon creates on water. It comes from mane, meaning “moon,” and gata, meaning “street” or “road.” 

Ishq is an Arabic word with no direct translation in English. It refers to a deep, passionate, all-consuming love or divine devotion — one that goes beyond ordinary affection to become an ecstatic love that overtakes one’s very soul. 

Some measurement abbreviations are straightforward — for example, “foot” is abbreviated as “ft.,” and “inch” is shortened as “in.” But others in the English language don’t seem to make sense. In particular, there is no “z” in “ounce,” so why is the abbreviation “oz.”? We need to go back to ancient Rome to find out the answer.

Ancient Romans used a base-12 numbering system, as opposed to our base-10 system. “Ounce” is from the Latin uncia, meaning “12th part, ounce,” because there were 12 units to a pound. In Old French, uncia evolved to unce, and in Medieval Italian, it became onze. It’s from the Italian influence that we get the abbreviation “oz.” 

Interestingly, when “onze” entered the English lexicon in the 14th century, it could refer to any small quantity. In Middle English, it was also used specifically as a measure of time (7.5 seconds) and length (about 3 inches).

If you know your measurements, you might wonder why we now have 16 ounces in a pound now and not 12 as in Roman times. In the Late Middle Ages, merchants in the international wool trade preferred dividing the pound into 16 ounces because it was more easily divisible by eight, four, and two. That preference stuck, and now we have 16 ounces in a pound.

Speaking of pounds, why do we use the abbreviation “lb.” when neither of those letters appears in the word? The answer again lies in ancient Rome, where the Latin libra pondo meant “a pound by weight,” based on the Latin pondus, meaning “weight.” Libra, meaning “balance,” referred to the scales used to weigh things. So while the English word “pound” derives from pondo, the abbreviation for it came from libra. 

If you’ve ever watched the Scripps National Spelling Bee, you’ve probably been stunned by the competitors’ abilities to spell words such as “bromocriptine” and “psammophile.” But terms like those are specifically chosen to pose a challenge; the average person won’t encounter them in everyday life. That said, there are many more familiar words that also confuse people — even those who claim to be great spellers. So before you type out that next text or email, make sure you know these seven words that often prove tough to spell.

If you’re talking about something becoming a liquid, you might think to spell the verb as “liquify.” After all, the word “liquid” doesn’t have an “e” in it, and many other words that end in “-fy” have an “i” preceding that suffix (e.g., “clarify,” “stupify,” “justify,” etc.). “Liquify” is technically an acceptable variant (likely due to the sheer number of people who spell it that way), but the correct and more common spelling is actually “liquefy.” The “e” comes from its root in the Old French liquefier.

“Minuscule” describes something extremely small or miniature, so it’s not unreasonable that so many people spell it as “miniscule.” However, the correct spelling isn’t about the object being mini so much as it is about the object being of a lesser size than other objects. The word is derived from the Latin minuscula, which is a diminutive form of the word minus, meaning “less.”

A genius may very well be ingenious, which means they are “showing an unusual aptitude for discovering, inventing, or contriving.” But the spelling of “genius” doesn’t translate to the spelling of “ingenious,” which has an “o” when spelled properly. This letter comes from the fact that “ingenious” is derived from the Latin ingeniosus, a term that means “full of intellect.” “Genius” comes from a different Latin root, gignere, meaning “to beget.” 

It’s a bit of grammatical irony that people often misspell “misspell” as “mispell.” The correct spelling has a double “s” because the word combines the prefix “mis-,” meaning “bad,” with “-spell,” meaning “write or say the letters of.”

“Sacrilegious” means “showing a lack of proper respect for a sacred person, place, or object.” The main issue that spellers encounter with this word is assuming it has a direct tie to religion and writing it as “sacreligious.” While religious locations and objects can be — and often are — sacred, the noun form, “sacrilege,” is derived from the Latin sacrilegium, or “a stealing of sacred things.”

What do the words “chimpanze,” “gorrilla,” and “orangutang” have in common? They’re all spelled wrong, with the latter being perhaps the most common error of the (banana) bunch. The correctly spelled word “orangutan” is of Malay origin, a combination of orang, meaning “man,” and hutan, meaning “forest.” (The other two words are correctly spelled as “chimpanzee” and “gorilla.”)

The reason so many tack on an extra “g” to the end of “orangutan” has to do with a linguistic concept known as agreement by correspondence. This is a phonological phenomenon where words are more likely to assimilate into a different language if they have similar or rhyming sounds. In this case, English speakers were predisposed to saying or writing “orangutang” because of its singsongy nature, even though the correct spelling has always been “orangutan.”

We all know the cruciferous green vegetable hated by children across the country (and notoriously by President George H.W. Bush). But while some folks hate its taste, others hate having to spell the word. The correct spelling is “broccoli” — not “broccolli” or “brocolli.” The reason it has two “c’s” and one “l” is that it comes to us from Italian, where broccoli is a plural form of broccolo, meaning “a sprout.”

When you’re short on answers, sometimes you’re left with no choice but to concede and say, “I don’t know.” If it’s time to admit to not knowing the answer, consider adding a bit of flourish to your response and reply in a way that oozes intelligence — even if you can’t answer the question. Try using these clever alternatives that accomplish way more than a simple “I don’t know.”

This is an excellent response to a question you don’t know the answer to. While it shows that you’re unable to help at this time, it also suggests that you have a proactive mindset and will track down the answer. It helps to build trust, as the other person knows they’ll be able to rely on you rather than have to search for help elsewhere.

Admitting that you lack the knowledge to answer is intelligent in itself. Humility is a far more appealing trait than bravado, and giving a bad answer will only steer the other person down the wrong path. This is why it’s best to admit your limitations and perhaps seek out the knowledge you lack so that you can assist next time.

The response “I can’t say for certain” is more productive than uttering just “I don’t know.” It suggests that you can offer a reply, but it may be lacking complete details. Providing whatever information you do know will help guide the other person toward the answer they’re seeking.

This is a fantastic reply because it encourages further discussion. While “I don’t know” might put an end to the conversation, speculation opens it up for debate. It allows you and the person asking the question to discuss the possibilities and perhaps have a productive exchange along the way.

It’s gotten a bad rap as corporate jargon, but this proactive reply can keep the conversation afloat rather than ending it then and there. It tells them that you have the ambition to find out an answer, and it takes the burden off their shoulders. You’re letting them know that you’ll come back to them at a later time with an answer.

“It depends” may sound like avoidance, but it can open up a dialogue. Let’s say someone asks you what type of food you’re in the mood for — your first instinct may be to reply, “I don’t know.” But if you say, “It depends,” then you can get to the bottom of the issue at hand. For instance, you can say, “It depends on what we’re doing after lunch,” or “It depends on if we want to eat at home or at a restaurant.”

If you don’t know the answer, turn the question back to the other person. They may have a valuable opinion of their own that they’d like to share, and your invitation gives them a chance to do just that. Responses such as this one — which encourage further discussion — are more productive than any reply that stops the conversation dead in its tracks.

Politics has a language all its own, filled with oddball terms such as “gerrymandering,” “astroturfing,” and “mugwump.” Among the most peculiar commonly used words is “gubernatorial,” the adjective to describe anything related to a governor. While the word pops up everywhere during state elections, it’s rarely used otherwise. So why do we say “gubernatorial” instead of a more intuitive form such as “governorial” or “governatorial”?

The answer to that question lies in a centuries-long linguistic journey that began in ancient Greece, passed through Rome, and eventually found its way into modern American politics.

Like so many of the English language’s most fascinating words, “gubernatorial” got its start in Latin, specifically with the word gubernator, meaning “steersman or pilot” — which was borrowed from the Greek kybernētēs, meaning “the person who steers a ship.” The metaphor was no coincidence: In both Greek and Roman societies, governing a state was frequently likened to guiding a ship through unpredictable waters.

English adapted “gubernatorial” through scholarly and legal Latin, preserving its classical roots, but the words “govern” and “governor” came into English from Old French, which had already turned the Latin spelling into the verb governer. The hybrid system stuck: Everyday speech uses “govern,” but formal political language kept the Latinate “gubernatorial.” But not everyone is entirely comfortable with it.

In an episode of NPR’s “All Things Considered” discussing the origin of “gubernatorial,” Virginia-based journalist Mallory Noe-Payne said that she does her best to avoid using the word, especially in broadcast reporting. “I say, ‘The Democrats control Virginia’s governorship.’ Or ‘the race for governor in Virginia.’ Or, ‘So-and-so is running for governor,’” she explained.

Whether reporters like it or not, “gubernatorial” likely isn’t going anywhere. In the same NPR piece, University of Kansas School of Journalism professor Lisa McLendon suggested that instead of asking why we say “gubernatorial,” we should really be asking why we don’t say “gubernator” instead of “governor.” “Because, if you go back to where this word came from, in the original Latin, it’s from the verb gubernare and gubernator, one who governs,” McLendon explained.

The result of the word “gubernatorial” remaining in the lexicon is a word that feels oddly formal and slightly at odds with its simpler cousins. It’s rarely used outside of politics, and even there it tends to appear mostly during election season — “gubernatorial race,” “gubernatorial candidates,” “gubernatorial approval ratings” — because it signals institutional seriousness rather than everyday speech.

In a sense, “gubernatorial” is a linguistic fossil. The role of governor may have changed from helmsman to elected official, but the word still carries the memory of ancient ship captains piloting their vessels across uncertain seas, now repurposed for governors navigating the political landscape.