Debut : Our FavouritesSome random words: ovibos This is not a dictionary, it's a word game wordfinder. -   Help and FAQ   -   Examples   -   Home Privacy and Cookies Policy - Share - © - 25.554mSThe requested URL /cread.php?awinmid=1456&awinaffid=50273&clickref=milliondollarhomepage&p= was not found on this server.Levenshtein dictionary is a sequence of all words arranged in order of similarity. The list begins with any supplied word followed by the most similar word as determined by its Levenshtein distance. The process is repeated for each remaining word resulting in a version of the dictionary that transforms from one word to the next — changing as few letters as possible with each step. Long and unusual words like googolplex, syzygy and borborygmus appear towards the end while shorter words with common morphemes are easily grouped together earlier in the list. The source words used to generate Levenshtein dictionary could be swapped with those for any language.

For the sake of presentation, the one published here excludes abbreviations, prefixes, alternate spellings, words with dashes, words over 29 letters and words under three letters. Levenshtein distance is a string metric introduced and published in 1965 by Vladimir Levenshtein. In simple terms, the Levenshtein distance of two strings is the number of letters that must be removed, added or changed for them to match. For example, the words belief ➝ relief have a distance of 1 because they are different by one letter. Today, Levenshtein distance is typically used for spell checking in word processors. Arranging all dictionary words in order requires calculating Levenshtein distance over 800 million times to pair each word with its most similar remaining match. Using a diff library, the difference between words can be isolated. With transitions applied, the letters morph through every English word. The dictionary and animation begin with the word adapt, chosen arbitrarily. Because each word is used only once, the resulting list would be different depending on its starting word.

The list below has been generated in advance to avoid straining your processor.blackout curtains 46x48 Some words share similar spelling but have dissimilar pronunciation. jhalar curtainsThe words dough and cough have similar spelling but are considerably different when spoken. dorma blue toile fabricArranging the list of words using available IPA pronunciation keys rather than spelling generates the tongue-twisting series of words below.kalha curtains Which words are least like the others?winnie the pooh curtains b&q

This exploration reveals which words are least like others — the odd ones out. curtains railside aveBy selecting words whose Levenshtein distance is large when compared to every other word, we can determine those with the most unusual spelling. The full list of 92 oddest words are available in the source. jabberwocky, a nonsense word coined by Lewis Carroll in an 1871 poem is among one of the oddest words. Using Levenshtein distance, it proves to be a measurably weird word. bahuvrihi, a term used in linguistics, needs a majority of its letters (five) swapped or removed to become another dictionary word. It beat all others of the same length, making it the oddest 9 letter word found. Levenshtein dictionary Javascript source code is available on GitHub Animation and its source available on Codepen IPA keys parsed from Collins American English dictionary— Chris Bitsakis — Updated 2016 April 18

Full text of "Acrostic dictionary, containing more than thirty thousand words" Miss Helen Josephine Mansfield admitted to twenty-two years.  Silken-sighed, abundant, she had eyes of smoked green, and a pure complexion set off by cascades of purple-black hair and the gold fire of her dress.  At one touch of her furry voice, and one glimpse of her snowy bosom and pearlike derriere, Jim Fisk was smitten into the eighth heaven of love. When Jim Fisk bounced back to his office in the morning, his mind was sharp as a pistol crack, and he marched like a cornet band; he had big hopes, big plans.  Meanwhile in her boudoir Josie was counting her diamonds, while in Boston Lucy Fisk in starched white moved through a ruffled mansion on little bird-feet. When Cornelius Vanderbilt, white-whiskered, lordly, erect, drove on Harlem Lane, where the young bloods of the city (aged eighteen to eighty), racing in light-wheeled wagons, yelled  eeeaaow, yippee, and  yo yo yo yo yo, no man tried to pass him;

he did a mile in just over two minutes.  One afternoon, riding with a banker friend beside him, he cocked his eye on an express train fast approaching, shouted “Giddap!” and with a whipcrack, raced it toward a crossing just ahead.  While the hurtling engine blew warning blasts on its whistle, team and wagon whisked across with seconds to spare.  Roaring a laugh, his bright blue eyes ablaze, he waved to the gaping fireman, then announced: Dan Drew was, by most standards, a smaller man than Vanderbilt.  He shunned cards, whisky, sport, and profanity, in all of which Vanderbilt indulged freely.  Afternoons, when the Commodore and much of Wall Street were churning up the dust of Harlem Lane, Uncle Daniel lounged about in the snug back room at Groesbeck’s, drowsing, dozing off, his breath puffing in and out in little wheezes and buzzes that amused the tiptoing clerks.  Away from there he was most at home in dewy cattle pastures, pews, hearthside chairs. One month later in Madison, New Jersey, in a handsome Greek Revival mansion fronted by columns and ringed by noble oaks, Brother Daniel Drew witnessed the formal opening of the Drew Theological Seminary, attended by educators, the press, pious ladies, and all nine bishops of the Methodist Episcopal Church. 

That the West Point of Methodism, training young men to drive cohorts of evil from the world, should have sprouted from the seed of his money and bear his name, moved, awed Brother Drew, the man who couldn’t spell “door.”  Four orators adorned the morning and four the afternoon, mounting eulogies of the Christian use of money.  Proclaimed one: “Non timeo Danaos dona ferentes!” (I  don’t fear the Greeks bearing gifts).  Though no one thought to translate for him, when the whole audience smiled at him and applauded, Uncle Daniel pursed his lips, looked wise.  Later, in the company of bishops and college presidents, the old ex-drover kept mum, lest the genteel talk be salted with hisns and ain’ts.  But when, within his hearing, a young lady asked about the founder and was told that the quietest, kindliest, most unassuming gentleman present was Mr. Drew, his crinkled features beamed. In Wall Street offices and somber parthenons of banks, vault doors clanged, stacks of greenbacks thumped on counters, bonded messengers scurried, quills scratched, rumors teemed. 

For this epic locking of horns – this clash of might versus cunning to be fought out by two modern Colossi of Roads through the hard, jeweled fists of brokers brandishing certificates of stock within the cold marble confines of the Stock Exchange – hordes of money men braced. Note:  This story will continue in two posts entitled The Great Erie War, with a full cast of robber barons: Vanderbilt, Drew, Fisk, and Gould.  Expect high drama laced with farce. (c)  2013  Clifford Browder morning at eleven the Old Bear arrived in a one-horse chaise at 15 William Street, the offices of Groesbeck & Company, his broker.  Lean, drab, stooped, his square face pinched with wrinkles and whisker-fringed, he had the air of a country parson or, some thought, a dishonest Honest Abe Lincoln.  most Wall Streeters could not imagine him as having ever been young, his gray eyes gleamed with vitality and cunning. Passing through the busy outer rooms, he closeted himself in a small,

snug room in back where callers flocked all day: “Grosy” and his clerks, messengers, directors of the Erie Railway, some big bug of the Street, or occasionally a fund-raising Methodist uneasy in the money-ridden atmosphere ofWhen the door opened, clouds of cigar smoke emanated, and Uncle Daniel could be seen on a sofa, legs crossed, or in winter with his feet stretched out to a fire.  At times he emerged to check stock prices on the ticker tape -- said to be the first such device on Wall Street -- which his broker had installed there especially for him, after which he retreated again to his snug little den.  In that cozy back room at Groesbeck’s, bear raids were launched, pools formed, corners schemed. When news came of a slick coup succeeding, a hen-cackle laugh erupted that had given the occupant another name: the Merry Old Gentleman of Wall Street. ran the rounds of Wall Street; clerks snickered, brokers guffawed.  When his son informed him how the rest of the

world spelled “door,” Uncle Daniel was chagrinned.  From then on he gave more and more money to the Methodists to fund schools, a female seminary, the Drew Professorship of Even while engaging in Wall Street shenanigans, this homespun semiliterate whose handwriting was illegible, and who spoke with a rustic twang, was building and operating the most luxurious steamboats in the world: floating palaces designed in egalitarian America to give Everyman (and Everywoman) luxury hitherto reserved for the princely castes of the Old World.  No expense was spared in their furnishings, which included ebony and satinwood paneling, grand saloons in the "Pompeian" or "Alhambric" style, Corinthian columns, mahogany balustrades, satin damask chairs, and bronze statuettes.   Not only were they sumptuous and swift, but plying from New York to Albany they ran so smoothly that passengers were unaware of any motion.  Speed-obsessed Americans flocked to the trains, but for comfort and ease they took the boats, enjoyed a fine meal in a dining room rivaling the best restaurants in the city, followed by a good night's sleep in a cabin, and in the morning, if their schedule permitted, a leisurely breakfast before leaving the boat.  

Meanwhile railroad passengers were jolted constantly and, before the advent of the dining car, were allowed limited time at periodic stops for a hasty meal in a greasy spoon. day, in the back room at Groesbeck’s, where a grate of coal glowed in the fireplace, the Old Bear slouched down in a chair with his feet propped up on the mantel, and smiled his crinkly smile. The last several years had been juicy. He had skinned both bulls and bears, kept Erie stock dancing to his fiddle, and promised lavishly to found a theological seminary.  All his eggs had two yolks. Source note:  The posts entitled Robber Barons of Yore are based on my unpublished fiction and therefore are slightly fictionalized, but they adhere closely to historical fact.  All the Drew quotes in this post, for instance, are taken from contemporary accounts; none is invented by me.  A full account of  Drew is found in my out-of-print biography, The Money Game in Old New York: Daniel Drew and His Times (University Press of Kentucky, 1986), available used online.