“I stumbled in here after she died. I had nothing left, and no one to talk to. So I turned these pages, over and over, day in and day out until my eyes went red and I exhausted my mind. I didn’t bring any books home with me, because I didn’t want to disturb the peace. A library is like a cemetery, you know—a sanctuary, perhaps. Everybody knows you don’t take the dead home with you. You visit them. You talk to them. You leave. But a library — it talks to you. You visit them. You listen. You leave. All the books buried in this place have something to tell you. Though I don’t go in there searching for anything, I let the energy guide me. I’m a lonely old man now, so I’m in no rush. I’m simply a broken man, with nothing to fix me, except getting lost in someone else’s story. It makes you appreciate the pain you’re dealing with because someone out there had it worse.”