Once upon a time there was a man who, by dent of industry and long hours, had accumulated large sums of money. In order that everyone would know this, he surrounded himself with all the things he considered a gentleman of means should have; fine cars, clothes, dusty wine bottles.
The jewel in his crown of pretentiousness, however, was his library. So many beautiful volumes, bound in leather, first editions, and diverse as many small town libraries.
Yes he had a wealth of information to match the cash in his bank.
Then isn't it odd that, managing to engage him in a discussion (outside of business) you discover he knows almost nothing? It may seem so until you discover that 90% of his mind is as virginal as his books.
The moral to this little story is this:
To have all the facts is not - necessarily - to know.