and the odd rooftop along the way
The greenish hill on the horizon right of centre is the Cimetière Père-Lachais, the resting place of many writers, composers and other assorted artists who chose the city as a place to shuffle off.
What actually occurs in our minds when we use language with the intention of meaning something by it? What is the relation subsisting between thoughts, words, or sentences, and that which they refer to or mean? What relation must one fact (such as a sentence) have to another in order to be capable of being a symbol for that other? Using sentences so as to convey truth rather than falsehood?