“He said, “So . . . do you like music?” It was a pretty stupid question. I mean, who doesn’t like music? Okay, maybe some puritanical zealot out in Hicksville. But really. It was kind of like asking, “Do you like food?” “Isn’t oxygen great?” “Have you got skin? I do.” I knew what he meant, though.”

“Wherever I go the music playing is always something I like. I never hear music I hate.""If you never hear it, how do you know what music you don't like?" I asked, not sure if I'd made any sense. It was spinny trying to figure it out. Didn't you know what you liked in contrast to what you didn't? But if he only heard music he liked, he'd never have any contrast. Did that mean he liked everything?”

“Do you know people who insist they like 'all kinds of music'? That actually means they like no kinds of music.”

“He shook his head. "Some people think that they like music,but they have no idea what it's really about. They're kindding themselves. Then there are people who feel strongly about music, but just aren't listening to the right stuff. They're misguided. And then there are people like me." ... "People like you," I said. "What kind of people are those?" ..."The kind who live for music and are constantly seeking it out, anywhere they can. Who can't imagine a life without it. They're enlightened.”

“No, I do not like music. (But what she really was trying to say was this: I like music better than anything in the world, after you.)”

“Mom's eyes held yours for a moment. 'I don't like or dislike the kitchen. I cooked because I had to. I had to stay in the kitchen so you could all eat and go to school. How could you only do what you like? There are things you have to do whether you like it or not.' Mom's expression asked, What kind of question is that? And then she murmured, 'If you only do what you like, who's going to do what you don't like?”