“Dad got that faraway look in his eyes, the one that said he was about to go in search of really ancient books and cryptic passages.”

“He looks again towards the door, expecting Mum to walk in and remind him of something he's forgotten. He smiles awkwardly. 'Is that it, Dad? I've got to go.' 'Your Mum said I should mention ... um ... satisfaction.' 'What!' 'She said young men should know things, should be told things so that the girl won't be ...' his eyes plead for understanding, '... disappointed.'[...] 'No worries, Dad. My biology teacher said I was a natural.' Dad looks confused.'I'm kidding, Dad.' [...] Poor bloke, having to do the dirty work while Mum's off with her gang. 'Dad? What did Grandpa tell you about sex?' 'He said if I got a girl pregnant, he'd kill me.”

“Cryptic Dad is cryptic,' I muttered ... We'd hung out all day today. Was there no time in there he could have said, 'Oh, hey, meet me at the magical bookcase at the butt-crack of dawn tomorrow, cool?”

“Amos sipped his coffee. The faraway look on his face reminded me of my dad. “I don’t want to scare you.”“Too late.”

“I told Dad about yesterday...I told him how I made all those mistakes.'But you kept on playing?' Dad said. His eyes got wide when he said it. I could tell he was proud.'Everybody does,' I said. 'You can't just get up and walk away every time you mess up. You'd never get anywhere.”

“Strolling down a white-graveled walk to the cliff above the ocean, he let his eyes rove aimlessly over the expanse of sea and sand: The icy-looking whitecaps, the blinking, faraway sails of boats, the sweeping, constantly searching gulls. Desolation. Eternal, infinite. Like Dostoevski’s conception of eternity, a fly circling about a privy, the few signs of life only emphasized the loneliness.”