Every Text Assumes A Reader.

Every Text Assumes A Reader.

Ordered By Subject, By Importance, Ordered According To Whether The Book Was Penned By God Or By One Of God's Creatures, Ordered Alphabetically Or By Numbers Or By The Language In Which The Text Is Written, Every Library Translates The Chaos Of Discovery And Creation Into A Structured System Of Hierarchies Or A Rampage Of Free Associations.

We Read To Understand, Or To Begin To Understand. We Cannot Do But To Read. Reading Almost As Much As Breathing, Is Our Essential Function.

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.

But At Night, When The Library Lamps Are Lit, The Outside World Disappears And Nothing But The Space Of Books Remains In Existence.