I've often wished to light up the chandelier in the grand entryway, it is so beautiful. On very rare evenings, usually Fridays, I would sneak up from the basement before they closed the doors and shut the lights off and hide in one of the tiny cubicle rooms on the second floor. The chandelier was the last light they shut off and in the silence of the darkened massive shell of shelves of books it looked like God surrounded by crystal angels in a heavenly host of golden lights.

And even so I found such comfort in the luminaries of brittle manuscripts and the flicker of a candle.