Weather reports with forecasts of snow will tell you when and where the precipitation is likely to land and give an estimate of how much will accumulate, but there are more words in the lexicon for the type of snow you can expect. It might be a snowstorm, a snow squall, snow flurries, sleet, graupel (granular snow), a whiteout, or a blizzard. Some of these terms are more obvious than others, but “blizzard” stands out for its unique spelling. Why do we call a certain type of snowstorm a blizzard, and where did the word come from?
According to the National Weather Service, the definition of “blizzard” is “a storm containing large amounts of snow or blowing snow, with winds in excess of 35 miles an hour and visibility of less than a quarter mile for at least three hours.” The word “blizzard” entered the lexicon before this technical meaning was developed — as early as 1859 — but it didn’t come into general use until the hard winter of 1880 to 1881.
Beginning with an unusually early mid-October blast, blizzard after blizzard slammed the Midwest, unrelenting through April 1881. Due to extreme cold during that period, the snow hardly melted. The accumulation was so deep that snow covered single-story buildings, and farmers had to dig tunnels to get to their barns to care for their livestock.
Trains stopped running to the Midwest, stranding many communities. Locals were required to use their already low food supplies, and fuel was scarce, hardly enough to get through the repeated blizzards. A February blizzard brought Omaha to a standstill for days. While fictional, the children’s classic The Long Winter by Laura Ingalls Wilder provides an accurate depiction of what those months were like for Midwesterners.
Two newspaper citations from 1881 reveal that “blizzard” was then a relatively new word: “The region is swept by those fearful blasts known as ‘blizzards’ which send … dry snow whirling in icy clouds.” Another: “The hard weather has called into use a word that promises to become a natural Americanism, namely ‘blizzard.’ It designates a storm (of snow and wind) which men cannot resist away from shelter.”
Note the quotes around the word “blizzard,” signifying that, as of 1881, it was a relatively new term. This is just one example of how language development is sometimes influenced by historical events. There are no clear etymological ties to a foreign language root, but the word “blizzard” is likely onomatopoetic. It’s based on the fierce sound of that wintery blast. Say it aloud, and you’ll get the idea.
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Certain words and phrases may be familiar to devout followers of a religion, but often these terms transcend their religious origins to become a part of our collective lexicon. Such is the case with “scapegoat,” a term used to describe one that bears the blame for others. The concept is derived from an ancient Hebrew ritual, though the actual term wasn’t coined until the 16th century.
Leviticus 16 describes a Hebrew ritual that took place on Yom Kippur, the Jewish day of atonement. This ceremony involved a sacrifice of two goats, one of which was sacrificed to God. The other had the sins of the Jewish people symbolically transferred to it by a high priest and was then sent into the desert or cast over a rocky cliff as a sacrifice for Azazel (the name of a spirit in some translations). This latter goat is the origin of the concept of a scapegoat.
The term “scapegoat” came from a Protestant scholar named William Tyndale. In 1530 CE, he coined the term while translating the Hebrew Bible into English. Religious scholars believe the term is derived from earlier versions that mistook the Hebrew word azāzēl (“evil spirit”) as ēz ‘ōzēl (“goat that departs”), and when the Bible was translated into Latin, it read caper emissarius (“emissary goat”). Tyndale later rendered it in English in his translation as scapegoote, meaning “goat that escapes.”
Printed historical examples show that “scapegoat” eventually dropped its inherently religious connotation and took on its modern figurative notion by 1824, and the verb “to scapegoat” is attested by 1884. Today, the word rarely, if ever, applies to actual goats and is almost always applied to humans placing blame for something gone awry.
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You may spread condiments with a knife, but you rarely cut them. And yet, we’ve all been “cutting the mustard” since the phrase was coined in the late 19th century.
Whether it’s spicy, yellow, brown, honey, or whole grain, the phrase “cutting the mustard” suggests living up to expectations. The origins of this condiment-related idiom can be traced to the late 19th century, and variations are used in both positive and negative contexts.
For instance, someone who cuts to mustard performs adequately, while those who fail to cut the mustard are a major disappointment. Here’s a look at where the phrase originated and why we say it.
According to the Oxford English Dictionary, some early printed examples of this idiom date back to the 1880s. In a June 1884 edition of San Francisco’s Daily Examiner, an article reads, “It is difficult to find men tall enough to see to cut mustard.” The author O. Henry later helped to popularize the idiom in a 1907 collection of short stories titled The Heart of the West: “I looked around and found a proposition that exactly cut the mustard.”
But we’re still left wondering why the phrase exists. One theory is that it’s a derivation of the phrase “pass muster,” which means “to gain acceptance” and has been used since the 16th century. But despite this theoretical connection, direct evidence is lacking.
Another theory relates to how “mustard” was historically used as a slang term. In the 17th century, most mustards were spicy or potent in flavor, and the word became slang for “powerful” or “enthusiastic.” By the early 20th century, “mustard” had evolved to mean “good,” “special,” or “as expected.” It’s entirely possible that “cut the mustard” came from this slang usage. However, it’s still only a theory, and it may fail to cut the mustard for anyone looking for a definitive answer.
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The “Scott” in “Great Scott!” isn’t fictional. This old-fashioned exclamation traces back to a very real 19th-century figure whose reputation was literally something people swore by.
If you grew up watching the Back to the Future movies, you’ll be familiar with “Great Scott!” as Emmett “Doc” Brown’s exclamation of choice for every surprise, mishap, and temporal paradox that occurs during the trilogy. But Christopher Lloyd’s character was far from the first to use the phrase. The antiquated expression of astonishment emerged in the mid-1800s and remained popular through at least the early 1900s before falling out of fashion — until Doc Brown gave it a second life.
But who, exactly, is the Scott in question, and what was so great about him? While a few notable individuals with the surname Scott have been linked with the phrase, including the Scottish novelist and historian Sir Walter Scott, etymologists tend to point to one man as the inspiration behind the idiom: General Winfield Scott. This Scott was a towering figure in his day. He was a hero of the Mexican-American War, became the last Whig Party candidate to run (unsuccessfully) for U.S. president, and served as the commanding general of the United States Army when the Civil War began in 1861. He was also 6 feet, 5 inches tall and weighed about 230 pounds in his prime, making him physically a great figure.
General Scott was connected with the exclamatory phrase at least as far back as 1852, when a reporter for the Madison Daily Banner wrote, “The exclamation of ‘great Scott’, so frequently used by many people, is said to allude to Gen. Scott, the Whig candidate for President.” It was also used to emphasize an oath or a promise — in Miss Ravenel’s Conversion From Secession to Loyalty, an 1867 Civil War novel by veteran John William De Forest, the author wrote, “I follow General Scott… We used to swear by him in the army. Great Scott! the fellows said.”
Today, “Great Scott!” sounds delightfully quaint and eccentric, a relic from a bygone era to express a sense of amazement or shock without harsher curse words. But the real Scott had nothing quaint about him — he was a military figure of great renown who inspired his soldiers, quite literally, to swear by his name.
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Appropriately, there are several stories as to why we refer to the various levels of a building as “stories.” But one theory from the Middle Ages stands out above the rest.
Unless you’re talking about an incredibly small library, the term “10-story building” likely refers to a structure with 10 distinct levels. The word “story” has long been used as a synonym for “floor” or “tier” in the world of architecture. While the term’s origins have been debated, the most popular theory is rooted in Latin and takes us back to medieval times.
The Latin word historia originally meant “history,” though it acquired an additional usage in Middle English as “floor of a building” by roughly the year 1200 CE. The theory behind this relates to how some buildings were designed and adorned in the Middle Ages.
According to Etymonline.com, many buildings were decorated with rows of painted windows, perhaps depicting historical scenes. The individual images in each row of windows collectively told a larger story. According to the theory, people began referring to each row of windows as a “storie” — a term that was also applied to each individual level. By the 15th century, “storie” had replaced “historia” in reference to either the external walls of a building or the “habitable space between a floor and a ceiling of a building.”
But that’s just one theory, and there are two simpler theories worth mentioning. Some say the word is derived from the Gaelic staidhir, translating to “flight of stairs.” Others claim it’s derived from the Old French estoree, meaning “built thing.”
It’s difficult to definitively say which of these theories is correct, but we do know that the Latin word historiaevolved into storyes in Old English by the late 14th century, and it was spelled as either “story” or “storie” no later than the 17th century. In modern English, it’s “story” to Americans and “storey” to those using British English.
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Even experienced writers struggle with commas. While creative writing allows some flexibility for stylistic choices, business, academic, and technical writing depend on precise comma usage for clarity. If you follow a particular style guide for work or school, it’s worth reviewing the rules — some may surprise you. At Word Smarts, we use the Associated Press Stylebook (AP style), which reflects standard American English grammar, with some exceptions, notably using the Oxford comma. Here’s what AP style has to say about five tricky comma scenarios.
Dates
Learning how to tell time and read a calendar are skills learned as young children, but the rules for writing out dates can get confusing. The most basic AP-style format for a complete date is “Jan. 1, 2026.” In this style, the comma follows the numerical date to offset the year. On Word Smarts, however, we always spell out the months. Things get trickier when more details are added.
For instance, when Jan. 1, 2026, appears in the middle of a sentence, a second comma is needed to offset the date fully. (Note that in AP style, months except for May are abbreviated when used in full dates or with just the day.) Consider another example: “Feb. 12, 1809, marks the birthdays of both Abraham Lincoln and Charles Darwin.”
Moreover, adding a weekday to the date is treated as extra information (or “nonessential”) and should be set off with a comma: “Super Bowl LX takes place on Sunday, Feb. 8, 2026, in the San Francisco Bay Area.”
However, commas are not always required in dates. For instance, if you mention only the month and year of a date, commas are not needed: “April 1926 includes two famous birthdays: Pulitzer Prize-winning novelist Harper Lee and Queen Elizabeth II.” (Note that the month is not abbreviated when it appears alone or with just the year.) You can also omit the comma if you have a month and day with no year: “The gala takes place every year on June 6 in New York City.”
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Coordinate and Cumulative Adjectives
There are plenty of rules about adjective order, but just as important is knowing when to separate adjectives with a comma. Coordinate adjectives require a comma because they’re equal or interchangeable. Think “a hot, humid day” or “an old, tattered book.”
This rule still applies when more than two coordinate adjectives are listed, though you’re less likely to come across it: “A dark, dreary, dingy basement.” Consider this helpful test to determine if adjectives are coordinate: If “and” can be used between them, a comma is required.
When adjectives aren’t interchangeable, they’re considered “cumulative,” and they do not require a comma. These adjectives rely on a specific order to build on one another. For example, “a new moisturizing cream” and “old green rubber boots” are cumulative and don’t need commas. Remember the test from earlier: Placing “and” between these adjectives would sound awkward. This is your cue that adjectives are cumulative, and commas can be omitted.
Appositives
An appositive is a noun or pronoun that explains or identifies another noun or pronoun. If the appositive provides essential information, commas aren’t needed. However, if the appositive is nonessential, commas are required to set off the extra information.
Consider the statement, “The Beatles singer John Lennon was expelled from college.” Here, the appositive “John Lennon” clarifies the noun “Beatles singer,” since multiple Beatles were singers. In this situation, commas are not used around his name because it is vital information. Writing, “The Beatles singer, John Lennon, was expelled from college,” would be incorrect; if you removed the words offset by commas, the sentence would be unclear.
Compare that to this example: “John Lennon, writer of the song ‘Imagine,’ was expelled from college.” Here, the appositive “writer of the song ‘Imagine'” is nonessential, adding detail without altering the meaning of the sentence. Because it isn’t vital to the goal of the statement, and the meaning doesn’t change if it’s removed, commas are needed to set it off.
This rule gets trickier when prior knowledge of the reader is required. For instance, imagine you have two sisters. If you write, “My sister Alice sent a birthday card,” the appositive (“Alice”) does not require commas because her name is essential to the sentence’s purpose — you must know which sister sent it. But if Alice were your only sister, you would write, “My sister, Alice, sent a birthday card,” since her name is no longer necessary for identification. Due to the complexity of some scenarios, this rule is often overlooked.
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Introductory Phrases
Sometimes commas are overused in introductory phrases. Some writers have a knee-jerk reaction to introductions, automatically adding a comma to set off an introduction no matter the length or context. However, AP style allows you to omit the comma if the introductory phrase is short and unambiguous.
For instance, “Soon it will begin” doesn’t require a comma because “soon” is just one introductory word and there is no ambiguity. The same goes for “By evening we were tired” or “On Saturday we went home.” These are cases where including a comma is optional and a matter of preference.
Long introductory phrases, however, should always be followed by a comma: “While primarily celebrated in the United States, Groundhog Day is a holiday that stems from European folklore.” Here, the comma helps separate the setup from the main idea. When constructing longer introductory phrases, keep an eye out for dangling modifiers.
When directly addressing someone, a comma must set off the name, no matter where it appears in the sentence. For example, all three of these sentences feature correct comma placement: “You’re funny, Fred.” “Fred, you’re funny.” “You, Fred, are funny.”
This rule is often overlooked in everyday emails and texts, such as “Thanks, Jack!” or “I’m sorry, Jill.”
But the rules of direct address become even less obvious when a common noun replaces a name. For example, “I’m going to be late for practice today, coach,” requires a comma because “coach” is being addressed directly. The same goes for “Thanks, professor, I appreciate the extension,” which requires two commas sandwiching “professor.”
In these cases, commas do more than follow a rule — they prevent confusion or misunderstandings. Just consider the difference between the correct phrase “Let’s eat, Grandpa!” and the much more alarming “Let’s eat Grandpa!”
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Giving someone carte blanche signifies handing over a significant amount of power. This term has roots going back to the Middle Ages, ceding powers both large and small.
Would you like to be given unrestricted authority to do whatever you like? To get away with this, you may need a permission slip, a get-out-of-jail-free card, or an official document that allows unfettered access to anything you desire.
That’s what “carte blanche” means. It translates literally from French as “blank paper,” but in legal or business proceedings, it’s “a blank document signed in advance by one party to an agreement and given to the other with permission to fill in the conditions.” And now the term “carte blanche” has broadened beyond documents to signify giving someone unrestricted authority.
“Carte blanche” (sometimes written as “chart blanche” or “charte blanche” in its earliest uses) dates back to the beginning of the 18th century. In one historical example, Thomas Wentworth, the First Earl of Strafford, referred to its application in negotiations where one party yielded broad latitude to another.
By the mid-18th century, it was customary for a man of wealth or importance to sign blank sheets of paper, so that a trusted subordinate could fill in the necessary order or business letter on his behalf — it wasa way to outsource details of decision-making. Through the 18th and 19th centuries, this term was used in diplomatic treaties, military commissions, and social contracts, such as when affluent men extended financial benefits to their mistresses. Such trust!
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The precursor to “carte blanche” was the medieval “blank charter” (charte blanche), such as those issued under Richard II in the 14th century (and recorded in Shakespeare’s Richard II). The blank charters were presigned instruments allowing crown agents to insert conditions, grants, or obligations, as circumstances demanded, to enforce royal will. The blanks facilitated flexible governance but carried risks of abuse.
“Carte” is ultimately from the Greek khartēs (“layer of papyrus”), probably from Egyptian, via the Latin charta (“leaf of paper, a writing tablet”). That same root is the source of many English words, including “à la carte,” “card,” “cartel,” “cartography,” “carton,” “cartridge,” “chart,” “charter,” and “discard”; it’s also the basis of the Magna Carta (literally “Great Charter”).
“Blanche” is from the Proto-Indo-European *bhel-, which means “to shine, flash, burn; appear white.” It’s the source of such words as “beluga,” “blanch,” “blanket,” “blaze,” “bleach,” “bleak,” “blemish,” “blend,” “blind,” “blond,” “blue,” “blush,” and even “black” (“thoroughly burned”).
If you’re ever given a signed blank check with no instructions, you may have carte blanche to do with it whatever you like — but beware the consequences from the account holder.
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People understand what “John Doe” and “Jane Doe” mean — but no one knows their identity. These anonymous names can be found in TV dramas and real-life court cases, but they come from centuries ago.
“John Doe” and “Jane Doe” are common placeholder names in the United Kingdom, Canada, and the United States. Used when someone’s identity is unknown or protected, they regularly appear in real-life contexts as well as in TV courtroom dramas and true crime shows. But these simple-sounding names aren’t modern inventions — they go all the way back to the 14th century.
The name “John Doe” (along with “Richard Roe”) appeared in English legal parlance during the reign of Edward III, king of England from 1327 to 1377. Its origins are in a medieval British legal process called an action of ejectment, originally used to protect tenants from landlords.
Under the common laws of the time, proving ownership of a property could be a long and complicated process. To avoid this, claimants used the action of ejectment procedure, creating hypothetical people to serve a particular purpose. It went something like this: To prove ownership of a property, the real-life claimant, in the guise of a landlord, invented an imaginary lease by a fictitious person, known as John Doe, and another person, Richard Roe, who had allegedly ejected (evicted) the lessee. To determine the rights of these two hypothetical people, the courts had to first establish who actually owned the property — which, for the real-life claimant, was the whole point of the exercise. Using “John Doe” and “Richard Roe” saved a lot of time and hassle by forcing the courts to more swiftly determine ownership of the property.
“John Doe” or “Jane Doe” are handy tools for TV crime show writers, but they do create some confusion in the legal system. It’s hard to search for a specific case file when there are countless “Jane Does” from other cases. If there are multiple anonymous parties in a case, “Richard Roe” is still used, or alliterative names from the rest of the alphabet have been employed: for example, “Paul and Pauline Poe,” “Frances Foe,” and even “Xerxes Xoe,” according to an article in the legal journal for Duke Law School. To reduce confusion in modern courts, unique pseudonyms, initials, or other anonymizing replacements are preferred today.
No one is entirely sure why the names “John Doe” and “Richard Roe” were used in the 14th century. It’s possible they were the names of real people, used in one of the early actions of ejectment. Or they were simply invented. “John” and “Richard” were common first names at the time, while “Doe” and “Roe” were both associated with deer. We’ll likely never know exactly how or why these particular names were originally chosen, but we do know that they stuck. “John Doe” appears in legal texts across the following centuries, while its female equivalent, “Jane Doe,” has been in use since at least the early 1700s. (“Mary Major” is sometimes used for anonymous female parties in modern legal cases.) Their creators could hardly have imagined that today, hundreds of years later, the “John Doe” and “Jane Doe” monikers would be used in media, courts, and hospitals across the globe.
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You’re probably familiar with “brass tacks” in a figurative sense, but do you know where this idiom originated? Seriously, we’re asking, because the answer isn’t clear.
Pinning down the origin of certain turns of phrase can be a tricky task. Often they’re present in the verbal lexicon before being preserved in writing, so the original source is almost impossible to determine. There’s a lot of uncertainty, for example, when it comes to the phrase “down to brass tacks.”. First of all, it’s “brass tacks” and not “brass tax.” Secondly, it means to get down to business and focus on only the essential details. But while those two matters are clear, there’s a lot of debate over where the saying originated and why it exists. There are several theories dating to the 19th century.
One oft-repeated theory is that it’s possibly derived from the literal removal of brass tacks before a piece of upholstered furniture can be restored or reupholstered. Another idea is that it has to do with a method of measuring specific lengths of cloth. Tacks were sometimes nailed a yard’s length apart into the counter of a merchant’s shop, allowing the vendor to measure out precise amounts of fabric. Still another theory is that “brass tacks” is simply Cockney rhyming slang for “the facts.”
While these theories still float around, linguist David Wilton — the editor of WordOrigins.org — claims “there is no evidence to support any” of them. The argument may seem bold, but it could be true. The theories might be folk etymology, created or popularized by people looking for likely answers without a basis in fact.
Despite the mystery behind the saying’s origins, we’re still able to point to some of the earliest known examples of its use. It was preceded by the similar phrase “down to the brass,” which appeared in U.S. newspapers as far back as 1853. One of the earliest printed uses of the phrase “down to brass tacks” was in an 1863 edition of a Houston-area newspaper.
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The way we talk has always been influenced by the media we consume. Let’s dig into the funny, smart, and influential idioms that have come from literary masters.
Famous literature creates a common set of references among readers. We know that an odyssey is a long journey, but the word came from the journey of one man, Odysseus, the protagonist in Homer’s epic poem. Linguists often credit the widespread adoption of certain idioms to popular literature, too. Though we can’t always definitively attribute invention of those idioms to specific authors, the first written instances of them are often found in classic literature.
Going back to ancient times, you can find idioms you use every day in the books that populate our classrooms and home libraries.
“Don’t put all your eggs in one basket”
Meaning: A warning against risking all one has on the success or failure of one thing. Literary origin: The Ingenious Gentleman Don Quixote of La Mancha by Miguel de Cervantes (1605)
Published originally in two parts in 1605 and 1615, Don Quixote is a fundamental text in the literary canon. The Spanish novel follows the story of a low-ranking noble, Don Quixote, who goes on a journey to become a knight and brings along a farm worker named Sancho as his squire. Sancho, the grounding force in the novel, says, “’Tis the part of a wise man to keep himself today for tomorrow, and not venture all his eggs in one basket.” The squire provides needed common sense in the face of Quixote’s high-minded chivalry mission.
“Pot calling the kettle black”
Meaning: Essentially, calling someone a hypocrite for criticizing someone else for a fault they also have. Literary origin: Some Fruits of Solitude by William Penn (1693)
Writers often have to point out logical gaps or hypocritical actions in their characters. In Thomas Shelton’s English translation of Don Quixote, released in 1620, this phrase appears in a different form: “You are like what is said that the frying-pan said to the kettle, ‘Avant, black-browes.’” William Penn updated the phrase in a 1693 work with an outline of the hypocritical acts that define the idiom: “For a Covetous Man to inveigh against Prodigality, an Atheist against Idolatry, a Tyrant against Rebellion, or a Lyer against Forgery, and a Drunkard against Intemperance, is for the Pot to call the Kettle black.”
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“Love is blind”
Meaning: When someone has fallen in love, they may not see the faults of the people they love. Literary origin: “The Merchant’s Tale” in The Canterbury Tales by Geoffrey Chaucer (late 14th century)
Chaucer’s The Canterbury Tales are a series of short stories, written in verse, and presented as a competition of stories told by pilgrims traveling from London to Canterbury Cathedral. When they were written at the end of the 14th century, this was a common journey, and those who took it had to find a way to entertain each other. “The Merchant’s Tale” is a story of falling in love, both virtuously and sinfully. In Middle English, Chaucer wrote, “For loue is blynd alday and may nat see.” The phrasing also appears in Shakespeare’s Two Gentlemen of Verona, Henry V,and The Merchant of Venice.
“Bite the dust”
Meaning: To fall dead, especially in battle; to suffer humiliation or defeat. Literary origin: The Iliad by Homer (Eighth century BCE)
Long before Freddie Mercury sang, “Another one bites the dust,” with Queen, the phrase had been in common literary usage since ancient times. Homer’s epic poem The Iliad is all about a war, so the meaning of falling dead or suffering defeat is appropriate. In the translation by Samuel Butler, published in 1898, he wrote in Book II of The Iliad: “Grant that my sword may pierce the shirt of Hector about his heart, and that full many of his comrades may bite the dust as they fall dying round him.” At this point in the story, the armies are marshalling troops and preparing for battle.
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“The best laid plans of mice and men”
Meaning: Well-thought-out plans often go awry. Literary origin: “To a Mouse” by Robert Burns (1785)
The title of John Steinbeck’s 1937 novel Of Mice and Men came from a well-known idiom. Literary people would have known what they were getting with the book because the Scottish poet Robert Burns used a version of the phrase back in 1785. In his poem “To a Mouse,” he declared: “The best laid schemes o’ Mice an’ Men / Gang aft agley.” In this context, he meant plans often go awry.
Meaning: To use one’s resources or energies to excess. Literary origin: “First Fig” in A Few Figs From Thistles by Edna St. Vincent Millay (1918)
Edna St. Vincent Millay coined this extremely useful phrase in a short poem:
“My candle burns at both ends; It will not last the night; But ah, my foes, and oh, my friends— It gives a lovely light!”
In the poem, the candle burning from both ends represents a life lived passionately — worthwhile (for its lovely light) even if it shortens the life itself. The idiom has come to represent a drearier meaning of someone wearing themself out by doing too much. St. Vincent Millay’s poems and plays were always evocative and pointed. She followed traditional poetic structure, yet still appealed with other stylistic choices. She was the first woman to win the Pulitzer Prize for poetry in 1923, so it makes sense that her words have worked their way into the lexicon.
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