The whole concept of such a place as a physical conduit of knowledge seems to be one of the last things ergonomic still surviving.

And also a place of comfort for people of a certain kind.

I'm thinking that this irritated, depressed, sad state I'm currently in is in some sense because of not going to a library for some time (like 10 years) and picking a random fiction book with yellow pages smelling of dust. It's more natural than searching for something to read in Google or in Wikipedia even.