Blockin' out the scenery, breakin' my mind
Do this, don't do that, can't you read the sign?
I saw the sign and it opened up my eyes, I saw the sign.
No one's gonna drag you up to get into the light where you belong
But where do you belong?
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Truth is not for the philosopher a mistress who corrupts his imagination and whom he believes to be found everywhere; he contents himself with being able to unravel it where he can perceive it. He does not confound it with probability; he takes for true what is true, for false what is false, for doubtful what is doubtful, and probable what is only probable. He does more, and here you have a great perfection of the philosopher: when he has no reason by which to judge, he knows how to live in suspension of judgment...
The philosophical spirit is, then, a spirit of observation and exactness, which relates everything to true principles...
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