Plutarch IV, 131 LCL
Lucian has an amazing appetite, but his mouth is not unlike a revolving door. At times, it opens and rotates smoothly: one bite, two bites, three bites, four. The procession continues unhindered. This is a good day. We aim the spoon, the spoon enters with food still on it, and all are happy. Sometimes, however, the spoon tries to go in but the door jams, and in this instance, one can only hope that it will open again soon. Then, there are the times when the door takes on a life of its own, turning uncontrollably. The food goes in and comes out, goes in and comes out, in and out, then in and. . . Of course there is also the loitering, going painfully slowly, but you know you can’t fit two in the same slot.
While the revolving door analogy works, our attempts to feed Lucian can also be described as a storm, more specifically a tornado. The funnel sways, moving this way and that, completely unpredictable. It pulls in debris only to spin it out with all its power. We dive for cover in a futile attempt to avoid the onslaught. Food is flying from the sky, and even in the downpour, everyone comes out filthy. There is no counter offence, no escape, so it is endured (though any experienced visitors know better than to sit in what we fondly call the "drop zone"!). At this point, our children resemble Agrippa's stomach. While we wouldn't go so far as to say that Lucian makes no contribution, at times we relate to the great hardships, and we continually minister to his appetites, but more often than not, our overtures are flatly refused.