Ordinary language is all right.
One could divide humanity into two classes:
those who master a metaphor, and those who hold by a formula.
Those with a bent for both are too few, they do not comprise a class.
'When we encounter the unmarked nonprogressive present tense with occurrences, we can guess that we are dealing with a foreigner or a poem.'
Drumming on Lexington, just around the corner from the governor's mansion: No justice, no peace.
An Amtrak passenger line from above, passing beneath a bridge across Ayd Mill Road, illuminated from within in anticipation of its Saint Paul stop: cars for sitting, dining, viewing are so visibly distinct in function that the whole train—with almost no passengers to be seen—seems transparent.
'One wou’d think, there was nothing easier for us, than to know our own Minds, and understand what our main Scope was; what we plainly drove at, and what we propos’d to our-selves, as our End, in every Occurrence of our Lives. But our Thoughts have generally such an obscure implicit Language, that ’tis the hardest thing in the world to make ’em speak out distinctly. For this reason, the right Method is to give ’em Voice and Accent. And this, in our default, is what the Moralists or Philosophers endeavour to do, to our hand; when, as is usual, they hold us out a kind of vocal Looking-Glass, draw Sound out of our Breast, and instruct us to personate our-selves, in the plainest manner.'
Belief by proxy.