113
113
5
5
51
51
62
62
104
104
84
84
21
21
93
93
53
53
112
112
52
52
24
24
56
56
67
67
109
109
50
50
39
39
27
27
14
14
15
15
91
91
37
37
83
83
60
60
96
96
90
90
3
3
88
88
74
74
77
77
49
49
80
80
34
34
8
8
99
99
30
30
79
79
20
20
57
57
38
38
87
87
22
22
6
6
81
81
11
11
102
102
40
40
25
25
75
75
43
43
28
28
54
54
“Until then I had thought each book spoke of the things, human or divine, that lie outside books. Now I realized that not infrequently books speak of books: it is as if they spoke among themselves. In the light of this reflection, the library seemed all the more disturbing to me. It was then the place of a long, centuries-old murmuring, 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.” ― Umberto Eco, The Name of the Rose
“Until then I had thought each book spoke of the things, human or divine, that lie outside books. Now I realized that not infrequently books speak of books: it is as if they spoke among themselves. In the light of this reflection, the library seemed all the more disturbing to me. It was then the place of a long, centuries-old murmuring, 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.” ― Umberto Eco, The Name of the Rose
26
26
9
9
13
13
92
92
72
72
101
101
16
16
70
70
47
47
7
7
78
78

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