(*Title changed from former lengthy one.)

I imagine a mid 19th-century hard-cover book written in German, whose subject is history. I feel as if every sentence in the book bears something deep. What is it? An illusion caused by the image I hold as to this language? No, it is maybe something general but in German of that specific time-setting it seems I can feel it in an emphasized manner. It is that a written sentence is what conveys an idea, knowledge or information; or a sentence is written for that purpose, which is the basic role of it.

Personally I often can associate the German language with the image of seriousness, industriousness and sternness. This image of German would be the thing which sharply points out that aspect which written sentences hold. Although in German I may feel it most keenly, it is the same in other languages. I can see English sentences from the same perspective too, as I clearly noticed that aspect. The world of the written ... Books had been for long the most efficient way to store and share human ideas. Rhetorically put, you can feel like a written sentence is like a little magic or miracle that supports human civilizations.

Humans, text and civilization. Language is what enabled human civilizations. Written text is a way of materialization of language to be widely available. Books were a symbol of the great power which this brings. Without text, there would be no civilization as we have today. In reading, a sentence written can be thus perceived as taking on the scent of this greatness. Every time you make sense of a sentence, that is, every time the meaning it has is communicated, you may feel you're touching the geographically and historically enormous system. A sort of sense of wonder. Maybe it's solemnity (Maybe this sentence can't be properly translated into Japanese by Google Translate as of 2019 8/17, leaving an odd vestige of alphabet. Somehow Google Translate started to sometimes output strange results).