Ye olde!

Do you know what the Old English word for love is? Not what you'd expect!

When people think about "Old English," they usually picture Shakespeare—all those thees, thous, and haths. But in reality, Shakespeare wrote in Early Modern English, which is practically current compared to the real thing. True Old English (or Anglo-Saxon) was spoken more than a millennium ago. It’s the language of Beowulf, filled with vivid, metaphorical words that describe the world in ways we’ve almost entirely forgotten. To understand the DNA of our modern vocabulary, we have to look back past the Renaissance to a time when the body could be described as a "bone-locker" and destiny was an inescapable force. Here are 10 Old English terms that reveal the epic, haunting roots of some of the words we use today.

In Old English, wyrd wasn't an adjective for something "strange"; it was a powerful noun representing the inescapable force of destiny. The Anglo-Saxons believed that while a person had some agency, the ultimate weaving of their life was handled by forces beyond their control. In that sense, wyrd could be translated as "the way things are meant to be." This is where Shakespeare got the "Weird Sisters" in Macbeth—they weren't just odd; they were the "Fates."

The Anglo-Saxons were masters of the "kenning," a compound expression with metaphorical meaning. Banloca literally translates to "bone-locker." It paints the human body not as a temple, but as a sturdy enclosure designed to keep your skeleton and spirit from wandering off. Interesting, don’t you think?

If you’ve ever woken up at 4:00 a.m. and immediately started stressing about every mistake you’ve made since the third grade, you’ve experienced úhtcearu. Úht refers to the hour just before dawn, and cearu means "care" or "sorrow." In other words, it describes pre-dawn anxiety or what we might jokingly call the "3:00 a.m. scaries."

This is a word you might find in an epic like Beowulf and would have been the ultimate Anglo-Saxon compliment. Beadu means "battle," and rof means "strong" or "valiant." It describes a very specific type of courage, the kind that flourishes only when the swords are drawn. To make it easier for modern readers, today it would translate into "battle-brave." Back then, it was the highest form of social currency.

This is the direct ancestor of our modern word "love." While it sounds cute and fluffy now, the Old English lufu carried a weight of duty, affection, or religious devotion (such as the love of God). It shared roots with the Old High German lubo, emphasizing a deep, enduring bond rather than just a fleeting crush. It really took centuries to evolve into the lighthearted "love" we use today, even for pizza or hobbies.

Another brilliant kenning, heofon-candel, is a very poetic compound word. Heofon means "heaven" and candel, "candle." The Anglo-Saxons saw the sun as a guiding light placed in the sky by a higher power. The phrase suggests that the sun is a gift, a light set out in the house of the world by a divine creator.

Did you ever have a dream that felt ominous or strangely significant? While we use the word "dream" today, the Anglo-Saxons had a more accurate term for those prophetic kinds of dreams, swefn. The word is related to other Germanic terms associated with sleep, such as Old English swefan ("to sleep"). Yet, to them, a swefn wasn't just a random brain-firing; it was often seen as a vision or an omen.

The simple way to translate this term is with the word "family." But back in the Middle Ages, a family wasn’t just your mom, dad, and siblings. In a tribal society, your maegth was everything. It refers to your clan, your bloodline, and your extended family. If you didn't have a maegth, you were essentially a ghost in the eyes of the law. The maegth was actually responsible for paying wergild (blood money) if you committed a crime.

Literally, andsaca translates as "one who speaks against," meaning someone who denies, accuses, or opposes. In other words, it referred to an enemy, an adversary. But it wasn't just someone you disliked; an andsaca was someone who stood in direct opposition to your truth or your faith. In Old English literature, andsaca could describe spiritual enemies as well as literal monsters. In Christian texts, it was even used as a term for Satan, the ultimate adversary.

Wuldor was a word used to express glory, splendor, or honor. It often referred to the radiance of God or the celebrated fame of a great king. In Old English, wuldor was the term for "celestial splendor." The word conveys more than simple praise—it suggests a brilliance of reputation or divine glory so powerful that it seems almost to shine.

Beloved lyrics

"For what is a man?": Some of the wisest lyric lines ever written

Paul Anka was terrified when he sat down to write the lyrics for a song that Frank Sinatra would be singing. Jokingly, he started with a dramatic, "And now, the end is near…" The rest is history. Who are the people who pen the words that others will spend decades repeating? How did they come up with words so precise and true that listeners would compare them with those of great philosophers? Here are 10 of people’s favorite lyrics of all time, decoded.

"For what is a man? What has he got? If not himself, then he has naught." The melody of "My Way" wasn't originally American. It began as a French song called Comme d'habitude, a number about a couple stuck in a stale marriage. Paul Anka heard it on the radio while in France and bought the rights on the spot, before he had any use for it.

That use arrived at a dinner in Miami, when Sinatra told him, almost in passing, that he was quitting the business. Anka flew home, sat down at a typewriter, and spent one night writing lyrics as if Sinatra himself were speaking them. Sinatra recorded it in two takes and later called it his "national anthem," and many agreed; Anka had written the exact words one wants to belt while closing an episode of their life.

In "Beautiful Boy (Darling Boy)," John Lennon wrote: "Life is what happens to you while you are busy making other plans." But the phrase originated with American writer and cartoonist Allen Saunders, who published it in a 1957 issue of Reader's Digest ("Life is what happens to us while we are making other plans").

The line outlived everything else about the song, repeated at graduations and eulogies for decades since. Lennon was murdered shortly after the album's release, which means the song now carries a weight of hindsight neither he nor his listeners could have intended at the time.

"How many roads must a man walk down before you call him a man?" A young Bob Dylan wrote "Blowin' in the Wind" in 1962. He later claimed he wrote the entire song in about ten minutes at the Gaslight Cafe in Greenwich Village, borrowing its melody from the old spiritual "No More Auction Block." He was twenty-one, barely a year into his New York career, and insisted at the time it wasn't a protest song at all.

The song never answers its questions, but keeps asking them. First published in the folk magazine Broadside in May 1962, it became the unofficial anthem of the civil rights and antiwar movements once Peter, Paul and Mary's cover shot to number two on the charts in 1963.

"... is equal to the love you make." This is the last song the four Beatles ever recorded together, and Paul McCartney built it deliberately as a farewell. He gave Ringo Starr his only drum solo in the band's history, a fight McCartney had to win through what he called "gentle persuasion," since Starr detested solos on principle.

For the closing line, McCartney said he'd been thinking about Shakespeare, who often ended a scene with a rhyming couplet so the audience would know it was truly over. Even John Lennon, who generally disliked the Abbey Road medley and rarely praised his old partner's work by 1980, admitted the closing thought was "a very cosmic, philosophical line."

"... but it’s better than drinking alone." "Piano Man", by Billy Joel, narrates a song in which the character is real. Joel wrote it about the six months he spent playing piano under the fake name "Bill Martin" at a Los Angeles lounge called The Executive Room. Even the waitress "practicing politics" was Elizabeth Weber, the woman who'd soon become his wife.

Joel wrote it while hiding out from a record label he was desperate to escape after his debut album flopped. It became a bittersweet anthem that many people love singing with others; it seems like, as the song suggests, singing sorrows together at the bar is better than feeling them at home.

The whole song "Both Sides Now," by Joni Mitchell, is often quoted as a deeply philosophical observation of life. It concludes that some mysteries of life are as unknowable as the clouds, or love, despite accumulating experience.

When she wrote it, Mitchell had recently given up a daughter for adoption after being left by the child's father. She was twenty-three, mid-flight, after a passage in Saul Bellow's novel Henderson the Rain King described its narrator looking down at clouds from an airplane, something human eyes had only been able to do for a few decades. Judy Collins released it first in 1967 and won a Grammy for it; Mitchell's own version didn't appear until her 1969 album Clouds.

Kris Kristofferson’s song, "Me and Bobby McGee", contains one of people’s favorite quotes from song lyrics. Its title came from producer Fred Foster, who suggested Kristofferson write a song about his colleague's secretary, Barbara "Bobbie" McKee.

Its most quoted idea about freedom and loss was inspired, Kristofferson later said, by the final scene of Fellini's La Strada, in which a man realizes too late what he threw away. Roger Miller released it first, but it was Janis Joplin's posthumous 1971 recording, finished mere days before her death, that turned it into a number one hit and an accidental epitaph.

"... and I'm getting older too." Nicks says she wrote "Landslide" in about five minutes, sitting in a rented house in Aspen while her partner and musical collaborator, Lindsey Buckingham, was on tour rehearsing with the Everly Brothers. The song's real subject isn't romance, but the vertigo of watching time pass. She was twenty-seven, broke, working as a waitress and a cleaner, and their duo album had just been dropped by its label.

Looking at the snow on the Rockies, she found herself deciding whether to keep chasing music at all. Three months later, Mick Fleetwood heard Buckingham's guitar work on a demo and invited the pair into Fleetwood Mac, which changed their lives. The song has now aged into an anthem for anyone facing a hinge point in their own life.

"You can't always get what you want, but if you try sometime you'll find you get what you need." Mick Jagger sketched this one alone on an acoustic guitar, calling it "one of those bedroom songs." It closed 1969's Let It Bleed just as the decade's peace-and-love optimism was cracking.

The song is upbeat and simple, and unexpectedly insists on an idea of acceptance or surrender that has more to do with Stoic philosophy than with pop rock optimism. But the listeners liked it, and many quote it often.

"...that's how the light gets in." Leonard Cohen worked on "Anthem" for roughly a decade, discarding draft after draft, before it finally appeared on his 1992 album The Future. He wasn't a man given to explaining his own lyrics, having spent years training as an ordained Zen Buddhist monk and generally preferring silence to self-analysis.

But "Anthem" has the clearest statement of a philosophy he'd circled his entire career: that brokenness can give way to grace. It has since been invoked by human rights activists, quoted at protests, and performed at civic ceremonies.