Where is the place memories go to?

In Europe, according to Friedrich Nietzsche ((1844-1900) German-Swiss philosopher and writer.)  an artist has no home except in Paris, which, in fact, presents the world with its fascinating Cafes wrapped up in Bohemia juvenile dreams and aspirations that inspired many;  take Joyce for example, finishing Ulysses in a smoked and dim lit Cafe at 10:35 PM facing the Eiffel Tower...
If a great city is that which has the greatest men and women (Walt Whitman (1819-1892) American poet.)  the land of the brick houses has much to boast. From the Shakespeare Globe down at the New Globe walk in London to the Battle of Waterloo, the kingdom of its Majesty reins victorious. England is civilized and even against the current cynicism disguised by a certain ignorant repertoire shouted by the mere uninformed critic who has drunk too much from his own medicine, it is a place which stills brings out the best in people
Cities, cities. Cities everywhere, cities which shelter us, now, since we have decided to expand ourselves into other languages and broad our minds mixed into other cultures we have thus become foreigners, not only there but everywhere, we look at streets and confuse names, we look at faces and mistake them - our bodies may be here where you can see but our minds, might be anywhere
To the cities that shelter us, let us stand tall and grow, so that to life, we may respond, with what we are, to shine and glow.