In each place of this city one could subsequently sleep, make harnesses, cook, collect golden coins, undress, rule, sell, query an oracle. Any pyramid roof could cover either the leprous lazaretto or the odalisk’s spring. A traveller goes round and round, and has no doubts: he does not differentiate places in the city, so even those places that are clear in his mind become confusing. Contemplate this: if at any given moment existence is always itself, Zoe is the city of the inseparable existence. But why, then, a city. What line separates inside from outside, the racketing wheels from the wolves’ howl.

Invisible cities, by Italo Calvino.