I’m sitting in the Yale Divinity School Library. A place so reverent, holy, and stoic that even God whispers. It’s all books and wood and cork and iron and column and balcony, and everyone uses a Mac. The outlets and ethernet connection are perfectly placed. The arch-top windows overlook quaint mansard-roofed buildings and rolling hills as the sun settles on the horizon. And a look over the room reveals (what look like) extremely smart people working on (what must be) indescribably important work.
I wish I smoked a pipe.