A Story Begins With This Nebulous Feeling

The Little Boy Had Wandered Away From His Mother, Tacking Across The Grass Toward The Play Structure. His Mother Watched Him Go, Proud, Tickled, Unaware That Every Time They Toddled Away From You, They Came Back A Little Different, Ten Seconds Older And Nearer To The Day When They Left You For Good. Pearl Divers In Training, Staying Under A Few Seconds Longer Every Time.

... But He Believed That Every Great Love Was In Some Measure A Terrible Mistake.

Dr. Roboy, In Litvak's Measured View, Had A Vice Common To Believers: He Was All Strategy And No Tactics. He Was Prone To Move For The Sake Of Moving, Too Focused On The Goal To Bother With The Intervening Sequence.

It Never Takes Longer Than A Few Minutes, When They Get Together, For Everyone To Revert To The State Of Nature, Like A Party Marooned By A Shipwreck. That's What A Family Is. Also The Storm At Sea, The Ship, And The Unknown Shore. And The Hats And The Whiskey Stills That You Make Out Of Bamboo And Coconuts. And The Fire That You Light To Keep Away The Beasts.

Fathering Imposed An Obligation That Was More Than Your Money, Your Body, Or Your Time, A Presence Neither Physical Nor Measurable By Clocks: Open-ended, Eternal, And Invisible, Like The Commitment Of Gravity To The Stars.