Every place has an intangible, invisible sense of place. A non-trivial aspect of this sense is the ambient white noise permeating the place in question: all the audible and barely audible noises which at all times resound throughout. Take away these background sensations, and the place becomes very different indeed. Libraries do urge its patrons to keep quiet, but they would become eerie places were everyone to actually become totally silent. The miscellaneous scuffling of backpacks, turning of pages, careless footfalls, and not-so-subtle subtle whisperings serve to define where you are. Without these ever-present reminders, it would just be a place where books come to rest, a catacomb of the written word, rather than a gathering spot for the living.