Perché usiamo i paragrafi?
Un paragrafo è un'unità autonoma di un discorso scritto che si occupa di un particolare punto o idea. Un paragrafo è composto da una o più frasi. Anche se non richiesto dalla sintassi di qualsiasi lingua, i paragrafi sono di solito una parte prevista della scrittura formale, utilizzata per organizzare prosa più a lungo.
Lo scopo di un paragrafo è quello di esprimere l'idea di controllo di un oratore o di uno scrittore e di sostenerla con specifiche. La maggior parte dei paragrafi di un saggio hanno una struttura in tre parti: introduzione, corpo e conclusione.
L'introduzione (prima frase) pone le basi per quanto segue e ne indica il punto principale. Il corpo (frasi 2-4) sviluppa quel punto con dettagli di supporto e spiegazione. La conclusione (ultima frase) riafferma il punto principale o riassume ciò che è stato detto.
Posso utilizzare gli paragrafi casuali che questo strumento crea?
Sì, è possibile. The Story Shack non rivendica alcun copyright su nessuno di questi nomi, ma è ovviamente possibile che alcuni dei valori forniti da questo generatore di nomi siano già di proprietà di qualcun altro, quindi assicurati di fare sempre la tua dovuta attenzione.
Quante idee posso generare con questo Generatore casuale di paragrafi?
I Generatore casuale di paragrafi possono generare migliaia di idee per il tuo progetto, quindi sentiti libero di continuare a cliccare e alla fine usa la comoda funzione di copia per esportare i tuoi paragrafi in un editor di testo di tua scelta. Buon divertimento!
Cosa sono i buoni paragrafi?
Ci sono migliaia di paragrafi casuali in questo generatore. Ecco alcuni esempi per iniziare:
Esempi di paragrafi| Idea #1 | Brady eyed the chocolate cake. He circled it. | © Kristina England |
| Idea #2 | It was just after dark when Clara came to me. | © Caroline Cutting |
| Idea #3 | It was glorious. I couldn’t believe it was for sale, a baby blue 1964 Ford Galaxy 500 with a 328 cubic inch motor in it, that runs. I stood there shaking my head thinking I’ve $3.25 in the bank and $5.36 available credit and the owner wants $4,000 for it. It was just like the car my late mother tried to teach me to drive in and what she drove to work everyday. | © Mike R. James |
| Idea #4 | Finley should’ve been happier — he should’ve been beaming out there on the hardwood. At seventeen he had a car, a job, and a girlfriend. Life for him was good, and about to get better for his imminent release from a societal obligation that had all the inconvenience of a full-time job, but with none of the benefit. | © Brian Moore |
| Idea #5 | Anyone who has had poetry published by an editor over the years has a relationship with that editor whether one knows it or not. | © Donal Mahoney |
| Idea #6 | Union Station does not just unite the Go Train, buses and TTC together to form the main transportation hub of Toronto |
| Idea #7 | it also unites cultures. Every day thousands of commuters pass through Union Station and each one of them is a true testament to the diversity of our city. They come and go from every direction and they may not notice him, but Pigeon Man is there every day. | © Jonathan Ryan Vassallo |
| Idea #8 | Shawn switched off the last of the office’s fluorescent lights, holding his cell phone to his ear. On the other end, his wife held two conversations at once — a half-assed one with him, and one with his sister who’s shrill laughter he could hear as clearly as if she were there with him. | © Madison Harrold |
| Idea #9 | Their parents agreed one weekend that Tommy could sleep over at his friend Nick’s house. They were seven. It would be their first sleepover, and their last. | © James Osborne |
| Idea #10 | He quaked as the sun ascended, lighting his cave. Yes, he was a he, not an it, but based on the feel of his stomach today, he questioned that concept himself. His name was Ergamere and he had a knot the size of a captain’s fist in his stomach. He should know. He had swallowed many a captain. | © Kristina England |
| Idea #11 | Lynda started screaming on the bus. All clamour no glamour, like the bus itself. It was a metal-tearing shrill. She didn’t know why she was screaming and couldn’t stop herself from doing so. Her screaming terrified and confused her. | © Santino Prinzi |
