500 Beautiful Words You Should Know

How was your Christmas? By the time you read this, it might be a distant memory, receding into that 2020 labyrinth from which we have just emerged. I’m writing this on 4th January, having had absolutely no inspiration at all. Stick with me. Some just came.

My Christmas was quiet. Just after Boxing Day, I went on a long, cold walk with first one close friend and then another. We exchanged presents in a socially distanced way. One of them gave me the most beautiful pair of gloves. The colour and the shape and the fit are exactly right. I love them.

The other one gave me a pair of socks which say, “I’m reading, please don’t disturb.” I would show you a picture, but I’m wearing them. Along with the socks came a fantastic book called, “500 Beautiful Words You Should Know.” I yelped with excitement and the minute I got home, started reading it. Written by a lady called Caroline Taggart, it’s also signed by her. By a strange set of coincidences, my friend was in London in a bookshop, spotted it and then found that she had a mutual acquaintance, hence the signing.

We’re all about language and words, we writers, so I thought I’d share some of my favourites from this fine volume. The first thing I noticed is the title. It’s not, “useful words” or “pretentious words.” It’s “beautiful words.” I love that. Once I’d got over the excitement of the inscription, I turned to the title page. Anyone who comes up with six chapters such as these has my vote.

1. Words that are perfect for their meaning

2. Words that sound clever

3. Words that relieve your feelings (very helpful at present)

4. Words that make you laugh

5. Words that are a pleasure to say

6. Who knew there was a word for it?

I’ve chosen some of my favourites. See what you think.

Gloop. “A hollow, gulping sound, the sort you might make while ladling thick soup into a bowl or dragging your walking boots out of heavy mud; also, the soup or mud itself. A bit like a plop, but heavier and thicker. Why? Probably just because it sounds right. Also see dollop.”

Captious. “Fault-finding, ready to take offence at trivial things.”

Majuscule. “The opposite of minuscule in the typographic sense: in other words, a capital or upper-case letter.”

Fustian. “An old-fashioned word due for a revival. Originally a sort of coarse cloth, it came to be used to mean a kind of high-flown language or speech, unnecessary ranting. Try it and you’ll find you can say it with a satisfactory amount of venom: ‘Don’t you talk fustian to me!’”

Tergiversate. “Literally to turn one’s back, but used in the sense of deserting one’s party, one’s friends or indeed one’s principles. Like the similar apostate, it’s a bad thing, as can be seen in this scathing line from the nineteenth-century Scottish writer John Wilson: ‘I am liberal in my politics,’ says some twenty-times tergiversated turn-coat.’”

Tatterdemalion. “A little-known word that the OED defines with the aid of another delightful term that has fallen out of fashion: ragamuffin. A tatterdemalion is one who dresses in tatters.”

Cerulean. “If celestial doesn’t do it for you and you’re looking for a poetic word to describe the colour of the sky, this could be the one to go for. It means a deep blue – azure, if you like. It’s a touch pretentious, so use it sparingly.”

Horripilation. “Gooseflesh, the shivers, making your flesh creep – phrase it however you like, it’s a physical reaction to something scary or cold. From the Latin for, ‘hair standing on end.’”

Arctophile. “A lover of teddy bears – or indeed of any kind of bear: the Greek origin doesn’t specify that it’s a teddy. Loving (or collecting) teddy bears is arctophilia; if you happened to detest them or be frightened of them, you would be an arctophobe, suffering from arctophobia.”

Paraprosdokian. “This highfalutin’ term may sound like something the Ancient Greeks would have used, but seems to have been coined by an anonymous writer in the satirical magazine, “Punch” at the end of the nineteenth century. From Greek words meaning, “against expectation”, it means a statement that starts normally but veers off in an unexpected direction. An oft-quoted example is the line widely attributed to Groucho Marx, although he denied he ever said it. ‘I’ve had a perfectly wonderful evening, but this wasn’t it.’”




I read the book in the damp, dreary, uncertain few days after Christmas. It felt like being handed a trowel and some cement to carry on building a wall. Words are our bricks, perhaps, and inspiration our cement, but I may have drunk too much caffeine and need to calm down this tortured metaphor.

So, there you have it. Some examples of beautiful words we all should know. Ms Taggart has written two other books, which are going straight on my birthday list. Happy New Year, everyone, and may all our words be beautiful.

All quotes from, "500 Beautiful Words You Should Know" by Caroline Taggart. Published by Michael O'Mara Books Limited.

Ruth is a freelance writer and novelist. She is married with three children, one husband, four budgies, six quail, eight chickens and a kitten. Her first novel, “The Diary of Isabella M Smugge”, published by Instant Apostle, comes out in February 2021. She writes for a number of small businesses and charities and blogs at Big Words and Made Up Stories. Ruth is a recovering over-achiever who is now able to do the school run in her onesie most days. She has abnormally narrow sinuses and a morbid fear of raw tomatoes, but has decided not to let this get in the way of a meaningful life. You can find her on Instagram and Twitter at ruththewriter1.