Infinity is not a space without limits. It's not beautiful, not magical, it has no answers, just one question. Why? Infinity is a small square cramped room, the sealing so low that you can't standup straight, the walls so near that you are unable to stretch out. Not that you dare to anyways. It's hot in that endless room, humid, decaying, century old, water stained paint curls down from a yellow ceiling, breaks, and falls in flakes down on a rotting, threadbare, yellowish green carpet from which a repugnant smell evaporates, musky and sour. A nauseating yeasty dust hangs in the air, seemingly alive, attacking your nostrils and mouth, cluttering your eyes, your ears, it sticks to your whimpers, while sweat pours from your forehead mixing the dust into a watery clay, a muddy stream, a film of opaque liquid that stings your eyes and strains your vision.
It's dark. Just a tiny flickering flame sputters up from the last bit of a wax candle on top of a wobbly, thin long, copper candle holder, standing at the centre of the room. Tipping, constantly threatening to fall over, and, even though the room is small, the flame doesn't illuminate the walls enough. You can't see clearly, nothing helps your senses, but you just know this room contains no doors, no windows, no way out. Still you continuously try to make sense of this space, while shadows lick at the perimeter of four small circles of broken, plastered grey brick. Bearably visible splotches of light, from each centre to the edges of the walls, where all is black. With spiders in the corners.
Agreed, modern mathematics is based on the concepts of "infinity", "continuum" "infinite set", especially analysis. But I believe it will take another century before people realize how unintuitive and clumsy these are.