Ward Farnsworth, a law professor and former dean at the University of Texas, studies why certain phrases and sentences become immortal in English while billions of other utterances are forgotten. His approach is to reverse-engineer historically memorable writing — from the King James Bible to Churchill to Lincoln — and extract the rhetorical techniques that make language stick. The episode is a masterclass in three core techniques: choosing Saxon over Latinate words, using repetition at the start or end of sentences (anaphora and epistrophe), and reversing sentence structure (chiasmus). Farnsworth’s central argument is that memorable writing is not about following rigid rules but about understanding contrast — the ear is struck by difference, not sameness.
The Two Languages Hidden in English
English is essentially two languages layered on top of each other: Saxon (Germanic) words and Romance (Latinate/French) words. For almost everything you want to say, there is a simpler, shorter, older word and a fancier, longer, more abstract one.
Saxon examples: make, get, let, light, last, kill, hate, stand
The Saxon words came from Germanic invaders; the Latinate words came from the French-speaking aristocracy that arrived later. They coexisted and merged over centuries.
How to tell them apart without knowing etymology: Latinate words can usually be expanded into other parts of speech — acquire becomes acquisition, acquisitive. Saxon words resist this. Saxon words also tend to be shorter and have harder consonant sounds (like “ck”).
The basic rule: prefer Saxon words to Latinate words when you want strength, clarity, and force. But the real art is in the contrast between the two.
Technique 1: Saxon Words and the Power of Ending Simple
The most important position in a sentence is the end — that’s what rings in the ear. Ending with simple Saxon words, especially after a passage that used fancier language, creates a powerful contrast.
“Let there be light” (Genesis 1:3, King James Bible): 11 Saxon words in a row, all one syllable. The translators chose extreme simplicity to match extreme significance. The humility of the words makes the content feel more powerful, not less.
“We shall fight on the beaches… we shall never surrender” (Churchill, 1940): 32 Saxon words in a row. Churchill wrote extensively about rhetoric and understood that the oldest, simplest words “strike deepest.” He deliberately avoided the Latinate words that had entered English from French.
“Never in the field of human conflict was so much owed by so many to so few” (Churchill, Battle of Britain): Starts with Latinate words (human, conflict) and ends with a run of Saxon words (so much, so many, so few). The Latinate beginning sets up the Saxon finish, making the simple words hit harder by contrast.
This sentence is also in the passive voice — “was so much owed by so many to so few” — which most writing guides forbid. Farnsworth’s point: there is no rule in writing except “make sure you’ve got a good reason.” The passive construction here creates a better rhythm and puts “the many” and “the few” next to each other for maximum contrast.
“Every kingdom divided against itself is brought to desolation… shall not stand” (Matthew 12:25): The first half ends with the Latinate “desolation”; the second half ends with the Saxon “shall not stand.” Same idea — the Latinate setup makes the Saxon conclusion land with more force.
Lincoln’s “House Divided” speech (1858): Lincoln says everything twice — once in Latinate English, once in Saxon. “I do not expect the union to be dissolved” (Latinate) is immediately restated as “I do not expect the house to fall” (Saxon). He’s speaking two languages to reach both the mind and the gut. The Saxon version is what people remember.
“It will cease to be divided” (Latinate) becomes “it will become all one thing or all the other” (Saxon). The Saxon ending is the point that sticks.
“Freedom for the thought that we hate” (Oliver Wendell Holmes Jr.): The sentence begins with abstract, Latinate language (principle, constitution, imperatively, attachment) and ends with the blunt Saxon punch of “the thought that we hate.” The word “hate” is felt instantly in the gut, unlike the Latinate alternatives (hatred, enmity) that require a moment of thought.
Technique 2: Anaphora and Epistrophe — Repetition at the Start or End
Anaphora = repeating the same word or phrase at the beginning of successive clauses. Epistrophe = repeating at the end. Both exploit the fact that the beginning and end of a sentence are the positions of greatest emphasis.
“We shall fight on the beaches. We shall fight on the landing grounds. We shall fight in the fields and in the streets. We shall fight in the hills. We shall never surrender” (Churchill): Classic anaphora. The repeated “we shall fight” drives the words into the listener’s ear. The repetition works like a rising tone of voice or an exclamation point — it signals that this part is important.
Farnsworth compares it to a soccer announcer who gets louder near a goal. You don’t want the whole speech at that volume; the repetition creates a spike that makes the audience listen up.
“The world will little note nor long remember what we say here, but it can never forget what they did here” (Lincoln, Gettysburg Address): Epistrophe — “here” and “here.” Lincoln loved this device. The King James Bible uses it frequently too. (There’s a gentle irony: the world has long remembered what he said there, perhaps more than what they did.)
“Government of the people, by the people, for the people” (Lincoln, Gettysburg Address): Epistrophe three times over, following the rule of three. Lincoln adapted this from a similar statement by Daniel Webster but improved it by adding “shall not perish from the earth” — a phrase lifted from the Book of Job.
“Giving all, daring all, enduring all to the utmost to the end” (Churchill, 1940): Churchill combines epistrophe (all, all, all) with a shift to anaphora (to the utmost, to the end). Moving between the two types of repetition creates contrast and keeps the device alive — it’s the “chord change” that grabs the ear.
“Senator, I served with Jack Kennedy. I knew Jack Kennedy. Jack Kennedy was a friend of mine. Senator, you’re no Jack Kennedy” (Lloyd Bentsen, 1988 vice presidential debate): Epistrophe with “Jack Kennedy” — but Bentsen varies it by reversing the third clause (“Jack Kennedy was a friend of mine” instead of “I was a friend of Jack Kennedy”). The ear gets the pattern, is briefly pulled away, then gets it again, creating satisfaction. This is the only thing most people remember from any vice presidential debate.
Technique 3: Chiasmus — Reversing the Structure
Chiasmus = an ABBA structure where the second half reverses the order of elements from the first half. It’s the rhetorical equivalent of “you have it backwards.”
“Ask not what your country can do for you — ask what you can do for your country” (JFK, 1961): The most famous chiasmus in English. Country (A) — you (B) — you (B) — country (A). The structure itself communicates the reversal: people think the country owes them, but actually they owe the country.
When to use a chiasmus: whenever you’re trying to say someone has it backwards, whenever you mean “vice versa,” or whenever there’s a mismatch or misalignment. If you can stare at a situation long enough to see the reversed relationship, you can probably frame it as a chiasmus.
“I claim not to have controlled events, but confess plainly that events have controlled me” (Lincoln): A conceptual chiasmus — I / events / events / me. Not a literal word reversal, but the same person (I/me) bookends the sentence with “events” in the middle. It’s a “half chiasmus” but still pleasing to the ear.
“It is as possible for a man to know something without having been at school as it is to have been at school and to know nothing” (Henry Fielding, Tom Jones): A structural chiasmus where “school” is the interior element and “something/nothing” (both containing “thing”) are the exterior elements. Not a literal reversal, but the pattern still resonates.
“And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil” (The Lord’s Prayer): A subtle chiasmus that combines with the Saxon/Latinate lesson. The outside words are simple (and, but, from, evil); the inside words are fancier (lead, temptation, deliver). The sentence moves from simple to complex and back to simple — a chiastic structure layered on top of a Saxon/Latinate contrast.
How to Actually Use These Techniques
Use them sparingly. These patterns are like exclamation points or an announcer raising their voice. If you use them constantly, you sound like a bad political speech. Subtle, occasional use is most effective.
Immerse yourself in great examples rather than imitating them directly. Lincoln became Lincoln by reading the Bible and Shakespeare obsessively — not by copying them, but by absorbing their instincts until his ear naturally gravitated toward powerful patterns. The same applies to studying Churchill, Holmes, or anyone else worth learning from.
Imitation is a learning tool, not a writing strategy. Farnsworth has students rewrite modern Supreme Court opinions in the style of Oliver Wendell Holmes — not so they’ll write like Holmes forever, but so they’ll understand his choices deeply enough to develop their own voice. Once you’ve learned the patterns through imitation, you throw away the imitation and write like yourself.
Memorization and copying by hand are underrated. Writing out a great quote by hand forces you to notice structural details that reading alone misses.
The shield side of rhetoric: beautifully said things sound more true, but they aren’t necessarily true. Studying rhetoric inoculates you against being fooled by eloquent people who may be wrong. The same tools that Lincoln used to inspire a nation can be used for bad causes too.
Lesson one of writing is clarity and concision — omit needless words, be efficient. Farnsworth’s techniques are lesson two: once you can be clear and concise, how do you also become memorable, striking, and moving? Most writing education stops at lesson one. The difference between competent writing and great writing is the artful use of contrast, pattern, and sonic texture.
