ABSTRACT
WORDS are not living creatures; they cannot breathe, nor walk, nor become fond of one another. Yet, like the human beings whom they are destined to serve, they can lead unique lives. A word may be born into a language with just one meaning, but, as it grows up, it may acquire new meanings that are related but nevertheless distinct. Often these meanings are rather natural extensions of older ones. Early in our own lives we learn what “hot” and “cold” mean, but as we mature we discover that hot pursuit and cold comfort, or hot denials and cold receptions, are not substances or objects whose temperatures can be measured or estimated. In other instances the more recent meanings are specializations. We learn at an equally early age what “drink” means, but if later in life someone says to us, “You’ve been drinking,” we know that he is not suggesting that we have just downed a glass of orange juice. Indeed, if he tells someone else that we drink, he is probably implying not simply that we often consume alcoholic beverages, but that we drink enough to affect our health or behavior.
