Alberto Manguel

In the dark, with the windows lit and the rows of books glittering, the library is a closed space, a universe of self-serving rules that pretend to replace or translate those of the shapeless universe beyond.

In the dark, with the windows lit and the rows of books glittering, the library is a closed space, a universe of self-serving rules that pretend to replace or translate those of the shapeless universe beyond.

– Alberto Manguel –

The Library at Night

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Masha Hamilton

Besides, Fi was convinced that instinct could determine a body’s literary needs, just as physical cravings pointed to dietary shortfalls. She’d experienced it herself more than once among the library’s dense shelves; not knowing what she should read next, she’d wandered, sniffing slightly, palms open. When intuition hit, she felt a sensation she couldn’t describe exactly: her hands seemed to know where to go. And when she reached, invariably she found exactly the book she needed at that moment – sometimes fiction, sometimes biography, sometimes a slim volume of obscure poetry

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