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I now understand why writers coin their own words.

They are not trying to be geniuses. They are tired, and in pain, and getting increasingly, stupidly frustrated with the confines of a language that is not flowing as it ought, because poetry is a horrible, ocean-like thing that will come to a rough break if you allow the slightest pebble to interrupt its rhythm. And did I mention my abdomen is trying to kill me.

As such: savrant (SAH-vrahnt), adj. Cherished, preserved; sense of some jealously-guarded treasure. From L. sacrare (to make sacred) + servare (to keep safe).

Created: Dec 21, 2010


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