The Soul Is Often In The Surface,

The Catalogue Of Forms Is Endless: Until Every Shape Has Found Its City, New Cities Will Continue To Be Born. When The Forms Exhaust Their Variety And Come Apart, The End Of Cities Begins.

Who Are We, Who Is Each One Of Us, If Not A Combinatoria Of Experiences, Information, Books We Have Read, Things Imagined?

There Is No Language Without Deceit.

The More One Was Lost In Unfamiliar Quarters Of Distant Cities, The More One Understood The Other Cities He Had Crossed To Arrive There.

There Is Still One Of Which You Never Speak.' Marco Polo Bowed His Head. 'venice,' The Khan Said. Marco Smiled. 'what Else Do You Believe I Have Been Talking To You About?' The Emperor Did Not Turn A Hair. 'and Yet I Have Never Heard You Mention That Name.' And Polo Said: 'every Time I Describe A City I Am Saying Something About Venice.