The Book (n.) is a fragile creature, it suffers the wear of time, it fears rodents, the elements and clumsy hands. So the librarian protects the books not only against mankind but also against nature and devotes his life to this war with the forces of oblivion.
The Book (n.) is like the spoon, scissors, the hammer, the wheel in that once invented, it cannot be improved. You cannot make a spoon that is better than a spoon. The book has been thoroughly tested, and it's very hard to see how it could be improved on for its current purposes.
The Book (n.) is menaced by the fact that there are just too many of them. The excess of information produces silence.
The Book (n.) is not made to be believed, but to be subjected to inquiry.
The Book (n.) speaks not of things outside of books, but of books. The library is an imperceptible dialogue between one parchment and another, a living thing, a receptacle of powers not to be ruled by a human mind, a treasure of secrets emanated by many minds, surviving the death of those who had produced them or had been their conveyors.
The Book (n.) has an indirect influence. Because we cannot read all books, we are thus deeply influenced by books we haven't read, that we haven't had the time to read.