When you repeat a word or phrase over and over, it creates emphasis. When you repeat a word or phrase over and over, it creates rhythm. When you repeat a word or phrase over and over, it sounds like this. And it sounds like this. And it sounds like this.

We're often told to vary our word choices to make things more interesting: she runs toward the ball. She dashes after the opposing player. She speeds toward the goal area. She headbutts the goalie. But guess what? Sometimes not varying our word choices makes things more interesting. Check this out:

• I would go on even to the great heyday of the Roman Empire, and I would see developments around there, through various emperors and leaders. But I wouldn't stop there.
• I would even come up to the day of the Renaissance and get a quick picture of all that the Renaissance did for the cultural and aesthetic life of man. But I wouldn't stop there.
• I would even go by the way that the man for whom I'm named had his habitat, and I would watch Martin Luther as he tacks his ninety-five theses on the door at the church of Wittenberg. But I wouldn't stop there. (4.1–6.2)

The passage is actually longer: MLK "goes" or "comes" somewhere but "wouldn't stop there" a total of seven times. Because, hey—if you're claiming not to stop, you'd better keep going.

Repetition tends to create a hypnotic effect that leaves us hankering to hear the next repetition, much like how each cookie leaves us hankering to eat the next cookie.

Mmm, cookies.

The repetition here prepares you for what's coming next: "We're in this place, but we're about to go somewhere else. We're in this place, but we're about to go somewhere else." Until, finally, we reach our destination: "Strangely enough, I would turn to the Almighty and say, "If you allow me to live just a few years in the second half of the twentieth century, I will be happy" (9.1). And MLK, like the repetition, stops there.

All of King's wandering through space and time has been to find the one place where he'll be happy. It's taken a while to get there, and the repetition simulates that: looking for something that's hard to find can feel long and repetitious, and every "I wouldn't stop there" is a disappointment: this wasn't the place. But it's also a new beginning: let's try again.

"I'll take 'Sternutation in Literature' for $1000."

But we won't stop there, because there's more cool repetition in this speech:

"And I read that if you had sneezed, you would have died. And I'm simply writing you to say that I'm so happy that you didn't sneeze."

And I want to say tonight, I want to say tonight that I, too, am happy that I didn't sneeze. Because if I had sneezed, I wouldn't have been around here in 1960, when students all over the South started sitting-in at lunch counters. And I knew that as they were sitting in, they were really standing up for the best in the American dream and taking the whole nation back to those great wells of democracy, which were dug deep by the founding fathers in the Declaration of Independence and the Constitution.

If I had sneezed, I wouldn't have been around here in 1961, when we decided to take a ride for freedom and ended segregation in interstate travel.

If I had sneezed, I wouldn't have been around here in 1962, when Negroes in Albany, Georgia, decided to straighten their backs up. And whenever men and women straighten their backs up, they are going somewhere, because a man can't ride your back unless it is bent.

If I had sneezed, if I had sneezed, I wouldn't have been here in 1963, when the black people of Birmingham, Alabama, aroused the conscience of this nation and brought into being the Civil Rights Bill.

If I had sneezed, I wouldn't have had a chance later that year, in August, to try to tell America about a dream that I had had.

If I had sneezed, I wouldn't have been down in Selma, Alabama, to see the great movement there.

If I had sneezed, I wouldn't have been in Memphis to see a community rally around those brothers and sisters who are suffering. I'm so happy that I didn't sneeze. (35.6–42)

Everything we said before about repetition applies here, too. As in the earlier passage, there are two pairs of repeated terms, this time taken from the girl's letter to Dr. King: "if I had sneezed" and "I'm glad I didn't sneeze." The structure goes basically like this:

I'm glad I didn't sneeze.
Because if I had, consequenceconsequenceconsequenceconsequenceconsequenceconsequenceconsequence.
Therefore, I'm glad I didn't sneeze.

It's sort of like a little essay.

To see what effect the repetition has, try is reading this passage aloud, but this time leaving out all the "if I had sneezed"s. We'll wait.

Doesn't feel the same, does it? It's not that we forget about the sneeze, but we're not focusing on it anymore. Whereas with the repetition, that tiny, almost silly little sneeze is juxtaposed over and over with some of the most important events in U.S. history. It's as though the two are equally important. For Dr. King, they were equally important, because, if he had sneezed, he would have missed it all.

That's one powerful sneeze, and mentioning it again and again reminds us that life is super fragile. Which is nothing to sneeze at.

Here's lookin' achoo, kid.

Around and Around We Go

One more clever thing you might have noticed: both of these long, repetition-filled lists describe historical events, and they join up. The first list starts in Egypt and ends at "the second half of the twentieth century" (9.1), where Dr. King says he's happy. The second list takes place in the second half of the 20th century, from the early Civil Rights Movement to the Promised Land, and talks about why he's happy there. That's the story of the Exodus plus the story of Dr. K's career all rolled into one. Here's the whole structure:

"I would go…but I wouldn't stop there…I will be happy…I'm happy I didn't sneeze…if I had sneezed…I'm happy I didn't sneeze."

And these two list halves bookend a 45-minute improvised speech. Improvised.

Improvised.

Mind. Blown.

But He Won't Stop There

Yes, there's more. Here are two more examples of repetition to explore on your own:

Maybe I could understand the denial of certain basic First Amendment privileges, because they haven't committed themselves to that over there. But somewhere I read of the freedom of assembly. Somewhere I read of the freedom of speech. Somewhere I read of the freedom of press. Somewhere I read that the greatness of America is the right to protest for right. (19.7–11)

It's all right to talk about long white robes over yonder, in all of its symbolism, but ultimately people want some suits and dresses and shoes to wear down here. It's all right to talk about streets flowing with milk and honey, but God has commanded us to be concerned about the slums down here and His children who can't eat three square meals a day. It's all right to talk about the new Jerusalem, but one day God's preacher must talk about the new New York, the new Atlanta, the new Philadelphia, the new Los Angeles, the new Memphis, Tennessee. (21.6–8)

This kind of repetition is a hallmark of MLK's style. The most famous example is a little phrase you might have read somewhere: "I have a dream."

One last note: for the nerds among you, and we love you, there are special words for this stuff. Repeating the same word or phrase at the beginning of a sentence is called anaphora. Repetition at the end is called epistrophe, not to be confused with this: '. You now know some Greek rhetorical terms. Baffle your parents. Alienate your friends. Above all, use them wisely.