Sweetmeats are candies while sweetbreads, which aren't sweet, are meat.
We take English for granted. But if we explore its paradoxes, we find that quicksand can work slowly, boxing rings are square and a guinea pig is neither from Guinea, nor is it a pig. And why is it that writers write but fingers don't fing? Grocers don't groce and hammers don't ham?
If the plural of tooth is teeth, why isn't the plural of booth beeth?
One goose, 2 geese. So one moose, 2 meese? One index, 2 indices?
If retired teachers taught, did retired preachers praught?
If a vegetarian eats vegetables, what does a humanitarian eat?
Sometimes
I think all the English speakers should be committed to an asylum for
the verbally insane. In what language do people recite at a play and
play at a recital? Ship by truck and send cargo by ship? Have noses
that run and feet that smell? How can a slim chance and a fat chance be
the same, while a wise man and a wise guy are opposites? How can
overlook and oversee be opposites, while quite a lot and quite a few
are alike? How can the weather be hot as hell one day and cold as hell
another?
Have you noticed that we describe certain things only when they are absent?
A
horseless carriage, a strapless gown. Have you ever seen a horseful
carriage or a strapful gown? Met a sung hero or experienced requited
love? Have you ever run into someone who was combobulated, gruntled,
ruly or peccable? And where are all those people who ARE spring chickens or who would ACTUALLY hurt a fly?
You
have to marvel at the unique lunacy of a language in which your house
can burn up as it burns down, in which you fill in a form by filling it
out and in which an alarm goes off by going on. English was invented by
people, not computers, and it reflects the creativity of the human race
(which, of course, isn't a race at all). That is why, when the stars
are out, they are visible, but when the lights are out, they are
invisible.
And why, when I wind up my watch does it start, but when I wind up this essay, it ends.

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