The inferno of the living is not something that will be; if there is one, it is what is already here, the inferno where we live every day, that we form by being together. There are two ways to escape suffering it. THe first is easy for many: accept the inferno and become such a part of it that you no longer see it. The second is risky and demands constant vigilance and apprehension: seek and learn to recognize who and what, in the midst of the intern, are not inferno, then make them endure, give them space.
You take delight not in a city's seven or seventy wonders, but in the answer it gives to a question of yours.
With cities, it is as with dreams: everything imaginable can be dreamed, but even the most unexpected dream is a rebus that conceals a desire or, its reverse, a fear.
"Journeys to relive your past?" was the Khan's question at this point, a question which could also have been formulated; "Journeys to recover your future?"
Arriving at each new city, the traveler finds again a past of his that he did not know he had: the foreigners of what you no longer are or no longer possess lies in wait for you in foreign, unpossessed places.
"You advance always with your head turned back?" or "Is what you see always behind you?" or rather, "Does your journey take place only in the past?"
The more one was lost in unfamiliar quarters of distant cities, the more one understood the other cities he had crossed to arrive there.
As this way from memories flows in, the city soaks it up like a sponge and expands.