pleonasm

Mary’s teacher frowned and pointed out that her sentence had pleonasm: “He, he himself, fixed the bike.” Mary felt embarrassed because she realized she added extra words that were not needed. She promised to watch out for this kind of repetition next time.

He stared at the crumpled paper, a sigh escaping his lips. "The man he said" was such a silly way to phrase it. Why use two extra words when one would do? It just felt…wrong.

Jake's dad always spoke in pleonasm, repeating himself with extra words that drove everyone crazy. "The man, he told me," he'd say, adding unnecessary phrases that made his simple stories drag on and on, testing the patience of everyone listening.

When my little brother says things like “let’s all gather together as a group,” I can’t help but laugh at the pleonasm. It’s like he’s worried nobody knows a group is already together, so he adds extra words like sprinkles on ice cream—totally unnecessary, but oddly adorable.

My uncle Bob, bless his cotton socks, said "the man he said" again. It's like he thinks we need extra words to understand, that unnecessary extra bit of talk. Honestly, it's a regular pleonasm party in his brain, a funny, wordy mess.

The teacher often corrected her students' writing, pointing out unnecessary pleonasms like "free gift" or "final outcome". She explained that using more words than necessary can make writing less clear and concise.

In the depths of the library's labyrinthine stacks, Amelia stumbled upon an ancient tome. Its text was dense with long, pompous sentences that seemed to dance around the simplest ideas. Phrases like "the man he said" and "the book she read" littered every page, a testament to the author's penchant for pleonasm. It was as if words were his playthings, more valued for their sound than their meaning.

In the dark, damp hallway, the sound of footsteps echoed ominously. Sarah's heart pounded in her chest as she tried to remain silent, hiding behind a crumbling wall. Suddenly, a figure emerged from the shadows, its eyes glinting with malice. "Who goes there?" the figure growled, its voice dripping with pleonasm. Sarah's blood ran cold as she realized the danger she was in. She knew that the figure's redundant words were a sign of its cruelty, its thirst for unnecessary suffering. With a trembling hand, she reached for the nearest weapon, knowing that she would have to fight for her life.

The teacher marked the student's essay with red ink, pointing out areas where pleonasm had been used excessively. The student had a tendency to add unnecessary words to his sentences, making them longer than needed. This made the essay difficult to read and understand, as the pleonasm obscured the main points he was trying to make.

The teacher was known for her love of language and precise communication, so when she heard a student use the phrase "very unique," she couldn't help but point out the pleonasm in their statement. She explained that "unique" means one of a kind, so adding "very" before it was unnecessary and redundant. The student quickly understood her point and made a mental note to be more mindful of their word choice in the future.

As he read her letter, Mark noticed a pleonasm in her sentence: "I saw it with my own eyes." The repetition frustrated him, making the message feel less genuine. He wished she could express herself simply without unnecessary words.

He stammered, his frustration evident. "I told you! The man, he said he'd be here already!" The unnecessary repetition, that bewildering pleonasm, only amplified his annoyance, blurring the urgent message into a jumble of anxious sounds.

His verbose uncle droned on about the family history, each sentence a pleonasm that stretched the story thin. Listeners shifted uncomfortably, wishing he would simply get to the point instead of repeating himself with unnecessary elaboration.

At the grand opening, Brian proudly declared, “This is the free complimentary gift you will receive!”—a classic pleonasm, as if a complimentary gift ever cost anyone money. The crowd nodded, pretending not to notice his spectacular talent for stating the absolutely, redundantly obvious.

Barnaby, a gentleman of prodigious verbosity, once declared, "The utterly indispensable necessity of this wholly superfluous redundancy is absolutely paramount!" His listeners, struggling to discern his actual point amidst the linguistic clutter, suspected Barnaby might have a penchant for pleonasm, adding words where they merely echoed, like a forgotten echo in an empty hall.

As Anna listened to the instructions, she grew impatient with the instructor's constant pleonasm. Phrases like "the book that he wrote it" cluttered communication, making the steps opaque. She longed for clarity, where every word served purpose instead of swelling the sentences with redundant excess.

His incessant mutterings, a veritable pleonasm of unnecessary clauses, annoyed her. She craved concision, not this rambling, redundant explanation that added nothing to the core message.

His verbose explanation betrayed a tendency toward pleonasm, repeating himself with layer upon layer of unnecessary detail. His colleagues shifted uncomfortably, wishing he would simply state the core of his argument without drowning them in repetitive, circuitous language that added nothing to his fundamental point.

During the interminable meeting, Mr. Johnson’s penchant for pleonasm became evident when he solemnly declared, “In my personal opinion, I myself believe we should each individually cooperate together.” Colleagues suppressed laughter, marveling at his Olympian prowess for redundancy, as if brevity were a mortal enemy to be vanquished with superfluous verbosity.

His ostentatious pronouncements were so laden with superfluity, a veritable cascade of needless verbiage, that one struggled to discern the core message beneath the effluvium. Such a maddening pleonasm, like a perpetually wagging tail on a dog that has already arrived, left the listener utterly flabbergasted by the sheer, unadulterated redundancy.