Wit is a form of intellectual humour, based on manipulation of concepts; a wit is someone who excels in witty remarks, typically in conversation and spontaneously, since wit carries the connotation of speed of thought. Dorothy Parker has the status of an archetypal twentieth century wit — to the extent of having the remarks of others attributed to her. As in the wit of her set, the Algonquin Round Table, witty remarks may be cruel (as in many epigrams), and perhaps more ingenious than funny. A quip is an observation or saying that has some wit but perhaps descends into sarcasm, or otherwise is short of point; a witticism also suggests the diminutive. Wit often suffers on being relayed (you had to be there). Wit is perhaps more characteristic of French and Jewish humour, to give two examples, than of English speakers; though there certainly are identifiable Australian and Irish styles of wit.
Wit in poetry is characteristic of Metaphysical poetry as a style, and was prevalent in the time of Shakespeare. It may combine word play with conceptual thinking, as a kind of verbal display requiring attention, without intending to be laugh-aloud funny; in fact wit can be a thin disguise for more poignant feelings that are being versified.
More generally, one's wits are one's intellectual powers of all types. Native wit — meaning the wits with which one is born — is closely synonymous with common sense. To live by one's wits is to be an opportunist, not always of the scrupulous kind. To have one's wits about one is to be alert and capable of quick reasoning.
As in the wit of her set, the Algonquin Round Table, witty remarks may be cruel (as in many epigrams), and perhaps more ingenious than funny.
A quip is an observation or saying that has some wit but perhaps descends into sarcasm, or otherwise is short of point; a witticism also suggests the diminutive.
Wit often suffers on being relayed (you had to be there).
Every investigator knows how easy it is to become wrapped up in data with the unhappy result that ones intended ascent up the Baconian ladder gets stuck in mundane matters of fact and never quite gets off the ground.
It was no doubt considerations like these that prompted the English physician (and neo-Aristotelian) William Harvey, of circulation-of-the-blood fame, to quip that Bacon wrote of natural philosophy like a Lord Chancellor indeed like a politician or legislator rather than a practitioner.
In fact, other than Tycho Brahe, the Danish astronomer who, overseeing a team of assistants, faithfully observed and then painstakingly recorded entire volumes of astronomical data in tidy, systematically arranged tables, it is doubtful that there is another major figure in the history of science who can be legitimately termed an authentic, true-blooded Baconian.
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