In the public psyche, a librarian is a woman of indeterminate age, who wears spectacles; a person with either a timorous disposition or an austere disposition, wearing a long sleeved blouse buttoned to the neck; someone who loves silence, likes books, and suffers people. Librarians don’t laugh. They are covered with a thin film of dust. They have pale skins, which touched (as if one ever could) might flake and prove to be reptilian scales.
—Barry Bowes, between stacks (1979)
(Source: such-an-ordinary-life, via novazembla)
