The aim of boxing is to hit, and never to be hit.
-A Coward
The match of David and Goliath in the Ring of Samuel is not one that will soon be forgotten by the annals of history.
Seven rounds had gone through, and it was a miracle that David could still stand, bruises colouring his body with all the hues of the rainbow. Despite the long match time, however, Goliath was as energetic as he was coming into the bout. David cursed his luck, only having to fight the beast because his team's leader took a sudden rain check on the team. Regardless, self-pity was not the key to victory; David would have to think on his feet and with his fists.
In the face of Goliath's endless jabs, David's solution was ill-conceived, but it was his only chance. He ducked, and as Goliath's fist flew down, David rolled out of the way, the giant's fist leaving a crater in the middle of the ring. David promptly grabbed a piece of the rubble and swung it at Goliath's head, knocking the beast to the ground. This was, at the time, perfectly within the rules, and was only professionally banned a century after David's victory. The death of Goliath in the ring is symbolic of many things; triumph in the face of adversity, quick thinking in a tough situation, and the fact that weight classes are for cowards.
1: born Miles

It is not known when the man called the Colonel first entered the library, but what is known about him is also made him revered across much of the Library. While he was concerned with his work of charting the unknown Ways that populated the Northwest-by-East sector of the Northern-South wing of the Library, anyone that crossed his path while mournful or sorrowful would immediately be corralled onto the nearest bench/couch/living Möbius strip¹ to speak their mind. His thoughtful expression and empathetic eyes made many beings feel at ease and at peace, whether they could feel those emotions or not². His cartography helped to chart the way for many others Wanderers to wander in safety.
While the Colonel died a grotesque death to a member of the large and aggressive Gallus gallus undomesticus³ species in In the Year of Our Lady 2526-XY2F, his statue immortalizes his kindness and sympathy towards others. It has become a rite of passage in many circles to visit the Colonel and cleanse yourself of all guilt and sadness of your past. And many who sit next to the statue swear that they see his marble eyes twinkle with compassion and feel his arm uncomfortably tightening around them, as they tell their stories and their woes to him. Legends say that the books that the Colonel watches over are the transcriptions of the stories he has been told over the eons he has watched over us.
For your kindness and ability to listen, Colonel, we remember you.
1: Much to the displeasure of the Möbius strip.
2: Many automatons may have gained sentience from having a conversation with the Colonel
3: Released by an Way accident that occurred when the Colonel forgot to carry the 1, and instead multiplied by π

Little is known of the Priest Born Without Smell of Mind, but it is rumored by the Ancient Krolloth who dwelt within the Library's furthest reaches¹, that he was the leader of a small cult on an unnamed continent, who scooped out his brain from his skull and sliced off his nose as penitence towards his dark god, and in turn, gave up his own name. However, as the Ancient Krolloth is not considered to be a reliable source of knowledge, this origin is apocryphal. The first concrete record of the Priest, following his supposed "birth," was in well trafficked corners of the Library, where patrons would see him kneel, and fill his hollow head from a bowl of strong tea. He would not speak, and when pressed would simply write that he was a pilgrim. He would then offer to readers crude clay cups of his own making to dip into his open skull cavity, and taste of his libations. For over seventeen generations, the Priest brewed drinks and served food from his own head to patrons lost within their own readings, distracted from the needs of their flesh. In time, he became regarded by staff and patrons alike as a sort of beloved figure.Following the seventeenth generation, the Priest abruptly stood up, spilling a soup he was offering, and walked through a Way to the fortress of the Delegations of Alameda², never to be seen in the library again. In his honor, several coffee shops and small bakeries are open throughout the library for patrons of all origins to enjoy.
1. A homeless sage of reptilian origin who acted as a informal assistant to the Docents. A general nuisance, he was eventually joined into the Docents' ranks, but not before his questionable knowledge was recorded.
2. Warfarers who are known by many names by many people, little information is known beyond the knowledge that they were the creators of the Red Door Room, and other such places. It is also known that they do not take prisoners alive

Unlike most saints, Saint Barbara's endeavours were not spurred by any desire to do good, but rather the longing for normal hair.
It is well documented in many sources¹ that Saint Barbara was very unfond of his hair, which was completely normal, apart from the facts that it was entirely comprised of spaghetti, and that it regrew extremely quickly.
Saint Barbara, during his one of his many expeditions to attempt fixing his hair, stumbled upon a Way, bringing him to the Library, which was going through one of the worst famines in history².
The presence of Saint Barbara and, more importantly, his nourishing hair, provided the malnourished residents with much needed sustenance, saving more than five million lives.
Saint Barbara eventually went to the desert planet of Kevhrpi, hoping the planet's many famous alchemists could help him with his noodly hair. He was ultimately unsuccessful, but spent an inordinate amount of time there, accidentally amassing a following of the planet's oppressed and hungry lower-caste citizens, which gave him the title of "Saint" after his death at the hands of the upper-caste rulers.
For your timely appearance and delicious scalp, Saint Barbara, we remember you.
1: Most prominently in "The Records of The Delectable Locks" by Rava Ohli, whose five hundred seventy-four pages is entirely filled with the written records of the bemoanings of Saint Barbara during his extremely long visit in Kevhrpi.
2: Information regarding the Years of the Strange Starvation can be found in the Archives, made available upon request for browsing only.

In 1895, Grayfoot stumbled across a pond filled with fish that were able to breath fire. Grayfoot studied the fish, and then wrote a book about them, A Study on the Fire-Fish. One day, Grayfoot stumbled upon a Way, and saw a place where people could read his book. So, he requested A Study on the Fire-Fish be put on the shelves.
The Library reluctantly accepted his request, and put his 617-page book about the fire-breathing fish on Shelf 4156T.
In 1913, Grayfoot requested a glass aquarium for his fish in the Library. The Library accepted this, and Grayfoot began work on his aquarium, which took up a large portion of the Library. When Grayfoot finished his glass aquarium in 1925, he transported all his fire-breathing fish to it.
One fateful day on 1938, Grayfoot was reading a book next to the glass aquarium. One of the fire-breathing fish leaped out of the aquarium and onto the ground. Out of its mouth, came its fire-breath, which lit the bottom of Shelf 4156T on fire, causing it to collapse on the aquarium, burning Grayfoot, all his fire-breathing fish, and A Study on the Fire-Fish.
For your fishy fire, Grayfoot, we will remember you.

The ten thousand and one works contained on these shelves are bewildersome to man and beast. A sage who could interpret them would certainly have no use for them.

Of the myriad calamities that have befallen the Library in its existence, few were as revolting as the Year of the Putrid Discharge, an era demarked by the presence of Medomai the Perspirant. Afflicted with a rare condition native to her homeworld of Dolpices, Medomai perpetually excreted an odorous sweat from every pore in her body. Branded an undesirable by the aromamancers of her home, Medomai fled Dolpices to escape her impending execution and took sanctuary in the Wanderer's Library, where she dwelt for the remainder of her life.
Although possessed of an innocent curiosity and a compassionate disposition, Medomai's condition quickly earned her the ire of both the Librarians and her fellow Wanderers. An acrid stench was the perennial harbinger of Medomai's impending approach, with a streak of rancid sweat always trailing in her wake. An untold number of texts were irrevocably damaged when exposed to Medomai, whose perspiration ruined the pages of Anton Fisk's Seventh Treatise of Multicorporeal Entities and rendered Karlov's Sonnet of the White Dwarf illegible.
In an effort to bring the senseless massacre of tomes to an end, an assortment of Wanderers captured Medomai and sequestered her in the Southwest wing. As they deliberated on how to deal with Medomai and her excretions, the issue resolved itself when Medomai quietly expired to dehydration. A brief memorial was held, the nearest shelf dedicated to her, and Medomai's remains were returned to her homeworld.
And so, for the stains she left upon the Library, Medomai is remembered.

Even before history was recorded, mankind has feared the dark and what waits within, resorting to sleep and candlelight to hide from those that refuse to be put to rest. To combat these evils, humans have created a variety of methods of stopping the undead from rising, though not all of them have been commonplace.
Elizabeth Omless was one who would not submit to the darkness and the spirits within it and encouraged the use of many of the practices we use today.
On a fateful day at an unknown time, Elizabeth entered the Library as a teen after escaping from the lost soul of her grandfather who had recently passed away. She tripped down a flight of stairs, accidentally triggered a Way, and was immediately surrounded by novels, guides, and even pamphlets on defeating the ghosts of the past. Once she overcame her initial shock, she grabbed the nearest pamphlet she could find¹ and successfully used the knowledge to send her grandfather to the afterlife. Since then, she thoroughly explored the field of exorcism, from deities to metals, often conducting her own research and fieldwork². She made well-known the practices of using cinnamon candles, certain religious texts, and other once-obscure defenses to ward off spirits, some of which we take for granted today. She passed away at some unknown point after the Spirit Infestation died down, though her spirit has yet to be seen.
You will be remembered, Elizabeth, along with the silver beads woven in your hair.
1. How to Guide the Lost Dead and Make Them Happy About It, written by Oscar Phantasm, translated by Dorothy Phantasm
2. This was done during a time the Library was infested with spirits that were unable/unwilling to leave the library and pass onto their respective afterlives. For more information on the Spirit Infestation, contact the Spectral Research Desk.

The statue, an abstract representation of the author-yet-to-be guards this shelf. It is ironic that the statuette adorning this shelf would be so flat and geometrical given the shelf is an area of unstable reality. Featureless save for mild suggestion at some form of personality.
Being that the statuette serves as an abstract representation to a concept rather than the depiction of a person, it would be prudent to discuss the nature of the shelf itself.
The shelf presents a problem of accounting, given total amount of collected works and registered authors varies wildly. Docents have reported the shelf to contain 1362 works on one occasion, only to have the number double upon returning after a short recess, and then halve after tea.
The texts that rest upon these shelves are often drafts or first editions and often unfinished, as if plucked from the imagination of the authors themselves. As a testament to the untamed potential of works not yet written, and a daring symbol for all would be writers to just sit the down and write something already.

Across the ages and the worlds, many esteemed oracles and pedigreed sibyls unanimously foresaw the coming of Amenenope the Most Glorious, a Figure of Power and Wisdom fated to lead the Universe in a new age of knowledge and prosperity. To determine more accurately the finer details of the Most Glorious’ coming, these seers and sages secluded themselves in the Library for a year and a day. At the end of their retreat they had shaped a perfect likeness of Amenenope and managed to divine His birthday and birthplace with the uttermost precision, down to the second and the centimeter.
In fact, their calculations were so precise that they didn’t take in account the fundamental imprecision of the Universe and most things living in it. On the night of Amenenope’s supposed conception His father drank a little too much after leaving work, and was then unable to find his way home and conceive the Most Glorious. The soothsayers were left with a stained reputation¹ and a useless statue while the mostly uncaring Universe moved on.
But even if you never were, O Almost Glorious, you are remembered.
1. This detail may explain the then-Archivist’s decision to devolve much of the shelf space occupied by prophetic volumes to the topic of ornamental topiary