A cathedral AND a library.

"Her father had taught her about...a dog's paws.
Whenever her father was alone with a dog in his house
he would lean over and smell the skin at the base of its paw. 
This, he would say, as if coming away from a brandy snifter,
is the greatest smell in the world!  A bouquet! Great rumours of travel. She would pretend disgust, but the dog's paw was a wonder,
the smell of it never suggested dirt. It's a cathedral! her father had said – so-and-so's garden, that field of grasses, a walk through cyclamen – a concentration of hints of all the paths the animal had taken during the day."

 – Michael Ondaatje, The English Patient, 1992