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.
'… truly person to person, even if others are standing nearby.'
'I don't care about your case. I care about you.'
Forecast lookin like a math class.
Negative highs, declining prospects.
'Each of us is a big enough audience for the other.'
'To set down such choice experiences that my own writings may inspire me and at last I may make wholes of parts. Certainly it is a distinct profession to rescue from oblivion and to fix the sentiments and thoughts which visit all men more or less generally, that the contemplation of the unfinished picture may suggest its harmonious completion. Associate reverently and as much as you can with your loftiest thoughts. Each thought that is welcomed and recorded is a nest egg, by the side of which more will be laid. Thoughts accidentally thrown together become a frame in which more may be developed and exhibited. Perhaps this is the main value of a habit of writing, of keeping a journal,—that so we remember our best hours and stimulate ourselves. My thoughts are my company. They have a certain individuality and separate existence, aye, personality. Having by chance recorded a few disconnected thoughts and then brought them into juxtaposition, they suggest a whole new field in which it was possible to labor and think. Thought begat thought.'
To myself, I think of this as the 'make wholes of parts' passage from Thoreau's journal (from the entry of 22 January 1852)—showing how a need to make wholes from parts preoccupies me, especially when I am at work, at work on what is most personal for me. All there is, is parts.
I've copied it again. The page in this year's journal even starts, 'Again!'. I must be forming a habit.