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.
I have a new bag which closes with large velcro straps and which are resoundingly, conspicuously loud. Tonight on the bus as I opened it a little boy sitting in front of me turned around, affecting an adultish look that said something like: what you have there is quite interesting to me.
A man boarded the bus tonight and proceeded to pick his nose in a vacant, agitated way, not at all covertly inspecting each find before he ate it. On his way down the aisle when leaving, he lightly touched three of the handrails.
—The heightened tension caused by having pulled the cord for a stop when the bus is caught at an intervening light.
'Eternally asleep, his dreams walk about the city where he persists incognito.'
'A dog wandered in, half mastiff, half pointer, its fur yellow and mangy, tongue hanging from its mouth. What should they do? Not a bell in sight, and their servant was deaf as a stone! They were shivering furiously but didn't dare budge for fear of getting bitten.
Pécuchet thought it wise to shout threats, rolling his eyes. The dog started barking and jumping about the scale, while Pécuchet, clinging to the ropes and folding up his legs, tried to stay as high up off the ground as possible.
"You're not doing it right," said Bouvard. And he began making ingratiating faces at the animal and uttering coaxing sounds. The dog evidently understood. It tried to lick the man's face, clamped its paws on his shoulders, and scratched them with its nails.
"Oh, great! Now look - he's got my underwear!"
The dog circled over the garment and lay down.
Finally, with utmost precaution, they ventured, one to come down off his scale, the other to climb out of the tub. And when Pécuchet was dressed, this exclamation escaped from his lips: "You, my dear fellow, will come in very handy for our experiments!"
They could inject the dog with phosphorus, then shut it in a cellar to see if it would breathe fire through its snout. But how would they inject it? And besides, no one would sell them phosphorus.'
'Descartes is not the first philosopher reputed to have constructed a mechanical companion. Albertus Magnus was said to have a robot that could move and greet visitors with the salutation Salve! ('How are you!'). Thomas Aquinas, his pupil at the time, is reported to have attacked and broken the gregarious android when he came across it unexpectedly in the night.'
'And, quite independently of this line of argument, Julian Jaynes has speculated that Descartes may have named his daughter Francine after the Francini brothers, who were responsible for creating the mechanical moving statues of gods and goddesses in the grottoes under the Royal Gardens at Saint-Germain. This idea carries with it overtones of Descartes constructing his daughter on the model of a mechanical doll. And in a more explicit way, a late nineteenth-century biography of Descartes, in a popular 'Philosophic Classics for English Readers' series, makes the claim that Descartes' interest in his daughter (and by implication women generally) was purely scientific, maintaining that it was no accident that Descartes' daughter was conceived in 1634, the very year when Descartes was working on his treatise on the formation of the foetus, for this was simply part of a scientific experiment, whereby Descartes 'carried his theory of bêtes-machines a step higher than he confessed in public', and his sexual 'adventure' was 'merely the result of scientific curiosity'. And commentators have not been content to limit his scientific curiosity in bêtes-machines to foetuses: as recently as five years ago, a writer on Descartes confidently tells us that he alienated his wife (Descartes was in fact never married) by experimenting on the family dog.'