From the book I'm currently reading: The Little Bookstore of Big Stone Gap by Wendy Welch:
"I remember as a very young child being warned that libraries and bookstores were quiet places where noise wasn't allowed. here was yet another thing the adults had gotten wrong, for these book houses pulsed with sounds; they just weren't noisy. The books hummed. The collective noise they made was like riding on a large boat where the motor's steady thrum and tickle vibrated below one's sneakers, ignorable until you listened, then omnipresent and relentless, the sound that carried you forward. Each book brimmed with noises it wanted to make inside your head the moment you opened it; only the shut covers prevented it from shouting ideas, impulses, proverbs, and plots into that sterile silence. What an enigma (a word my young self wouldn't know for years) that such a false sense of quietude should be imposed on this obviously noisy place."
I like the idea of a bookstore full of books that hum; that doesn't seem at all unlikely, considering I know of a bookstore where the books dance the night away. Visit it here.