Perhaps, it is this — and, I think so, that we travellers never arrive at a place for the first time; we only return to see those sites again which we, at some time, in some strange moment, had discovered in our own rooms. Is it ever possible to not suddenly meet an Ibsen character while roaming in Oslo! Or, to see the roofs stretched out in front of the Eiffel tower for the first time and not remember our own Paris, the one we had stolen from the novels of Balzac and pasted in our personal albums.
Nirmal Verma. From चीड़ों पर चांदनी (Moonlit Pines).