" Give me a sign, God-Emperor. I do not even ask for the faith of saints. Give me the faith of the lowliest serf.
No answer came. No strength returned. The meaninglessness of the galaxy became more and more manifest, a monstrous truth of crystalline clarity.
When he was not kneeling in his cell, he was in the librarium. Midships, on the same level as the chapel, much smaller but still a great, high space, lined with shelves instead of glassaic, the librarium tortured him with the promise of wisdom, and the possibility of meaning. If only he could find the right book, the right argument, the revelatory turn of phrase that would restore to him what he had lost.
If only. "

― David Annandale , Sacred Hate (Warhammer 40,000)