If the user wishes to consult a certain book, he taps its code on the keyboard, and the title page of the book promptly appears before him, projected onto one of his viewing positions. Frequently-used codes are mnemonic, so that he seldom consults his code book; but when he does, a single tap of a key projects it for his use. Moreover, he has supplemental levers. On deflecting one of these levers to the right he runs through the book before him, each page in turn being projected at a speed which just allows a recognizing glance at each. If he deflects it further to the right, he steps through the book 10 pages at a time; still further at 100 pages at a time. Deflection to the left gives him the same control backwards.

A special button transfers him immediately to the first page of the index. Any given book of his library can thus be called up and consulted with far greater facility than if it were taken from a shelf. As he has several projection positions, he can leave one item in position while he calls up another. He can add marginal notes and comments, taking advantage of one possible type of dry photography, and it could even be arranged so that he can do this by a stylus scheme, such as is now employed in the telautograph seen in railroad waiting rooms, just as though he had the physical page before him.
— Vannevar Bush, As We May Think.

When the Louvre became a museum, after the Revolution, and what had been the royal collections were augmented by the conquests of Napoleon, the various schools of art at last confronted each other with their varying masterpieces, but the traditional esthetic remained supreme.
…
The development of reproduction has had another, more subtle consequence. In an album or an art book, objects are generally reproduced in more or less the same format; the limitations of the printed page are such that a reclining Buddha over sixty feet in length may appear to be about four times the size of a Tanagra figurine. The works reproduced lose their relative proportions.

It is of no importance that a large statue should become small: it simply becomes a commonplace document, and we are unlikely to make a mistake about its true nature. But the enlargement of seals, of coins, of amulets, of figurines creates truly fictitious arts. The unfinished quality of the execution resulting from the very small scale of these objects, now becomes a style, free, and modern in its accent.
— André Malraux, Museum Without Walls.