“The library, then, at seven-fifteen, seven-thirty, seven-forty-five of a Sunday night, cloistered with great drifts of silence and transfixed avalanche of books poised like the cuneiform stones of eternity on shelves, so high the unseen snows of time fell all year there.” TimeBooksEternityLibrariesNightsSundaysSunday Nights Book:Something Wicked This Way Comes Source: Something Wicked This Way Comes