Unpacking Books Is A Revelatory Activity.

In My Fool Hardy Youth, When My Friends Were Dreaming Of Heroic Deeds In The Realms Of Engineering And Law, Finance And National Politics, I Dreamt Of Becoming A Librarian.

We Can Roam The Bloated Stacks Of The Library Of Alexandria, Where All Imagination And Knowledge Are Assembled; We Can Recognize In Its Destruction The Warning That All We Gather Will Be Lost, But Also That Much Of It Can Be Collected Again; We Can Learn From Its Splendid Ambition That What Was One Man's Experience Can Become, Through The Alchemy Of Words, The Experience Of All, And How That Experience, Distilled Once Again Into Words, Can Serve Each Singular Reader For Some Secret, Singular Purpose.

If The Library In The Morning Suggests An Echo Of The Severe And Reasonable Wishful Order Of The World, The Library At Night Seems To Rejoice In The World's Essential, Joyful Muddle.

Darkness Promotes Speech.

Something About The Possession Of A Book - An Object That Can Contain Infinite Fables, Words Of Wisdom, Chronicles Of Times Gone By, Humorous Anecdotes And Divine Revelation - Endows The Reader With The Power Of Creating A Story, And The Listener With A Sense Of Being Present At The Moment Of Creation.