The Sense (n.) are the source of all credibility, all good conscience, all evidence of truth.
The Sense (n.) work within a medium span fitted to our existence: sharpen or blunt them tenfold and we would perish.
The Sense (n.) do not lie at all; the lies begin with what we do with their testimony — unity, substance, permanence.
Sense (n.) of a thing is found not in the thing but in the force that seizes it, exploits it, or is expressed in it.
The Sense (n.) lead nowhere near truth; they play a groping game on the backs of things, gliding over surfaces and seeing only 'forms.'
The Sense (n.) have been almost detached from thinking by the division of labour — once judging lived inside them, and earlier still desire and sense were one.
The Sense (n.) cannot be trusted: 'Let neither your dull eyes, nor your ringing ears, nor your tongue guide you, but test everything by the force of your thought alone.'
The Sense (n.) serve only a selection of perceptions, those we must concern ourselves with to survive; consciousness is present only to the extent that it is useful.
The Sense (n.) were feared by the old philosophers as a southern island where their virtues might melt like snow; with wax in their ears they denied the music of life as sirens' song.
The Sense (n.) deserve gratitude for their subtlety and power; we should repay them with the best we have of spirit — "desensualization" is misunderstanding, illness or hypocrisy.
The Sense (n.) offer raw material that the intellect treats with no intention to truth but as if with a will to overpower, assimilate and consume, and our constant functions are egoistic, machiavellian, unscrupulous and subtle.