This is a passage from page 156 of Wayne Booth's newly published, 'For the Love of It', a University of Chicago English professor writing about his forty years of playing the cello in amateur chamber groups. It rings so true: "After playing the two Brahms sextets on Friday night, I found myself on Monday, as I was in the shower thinking about Whitehead, simultaneously singing not my own cello part but a viola passage. A little later, working on an article at the computer, I suddenly "heard" all of the other five strings opening Opus 36 while I do nothing, for twenty-nine measures, but ten little pluckings and one gentle slurp. Later still, walking to campus, I suddenly realized that I was pacing to the andante of the other sextet, Opus 18. This morning, Tuesday, reading about the usual atrocities in the morning paper, I heard intruding the lovely pattern of ritardando arpeggios at the end of that slow movement. My voice could never sing them properly; my cello had come closer. But my mind, my half-conscious, gets them right. Later the cellos are both plucking away in my head, in the marvelous pizzicato opening of the scherzo of the G Major. Sometimes, when we have worked especially hard and then exeperienced an especially good session, the hangover will run on for weeks." Scott Morrison