Some say the library was formed in the likeness of Heaven.
The ceiling is of woven gold, delicate curves embracing the blue sky beyond. Slender pillars seem to touch the ground only lightly, as if tethering the roof instead of supporting it. From them spring graceful arches, and elegant balustrades encompassing the room entire.
At first glance the books are almost an afterthought, but the eye is drawn ever back to them. Spines and covers in infinite variety whisper or shout their stories, catching the passing reader in their snares of words. Each one eagerly waits to be pulled out, borne down to the serried ranks of tables below, opened with careful reverence, and read.
Some say that Heaven will be formed in the likeness of the library.
I do not think they are wrong.