We rarely get to prepare ourselves in meadows or on graveled walks; we do it on short notice in places without windows, hospital corridors, rooms like this lounge with its cracked plastic sofa and Cinzano ashtrays, where the cafe curtains cover blank concrete. In rooms like this, with so little time, we prepare our gestures, get them by heart so we can do them when we're frightened in the face of Doom.

But the face on the pillow, rosy in the firelight, is certainly that of Clarice Starling, and she sleeps deeply, sweetly, in the silence of the lambs.

One quality in a person doesn't rule out any other quality. They can exist side by side, good and terrible. Socrates said it a lot better.

I'm doing one of three things: I'm writing. I'm staring out the window. Or I'm writhing on the floor.

Human emotions are a gift from our animal ancestors. Cruelty is a gift humanity has given itself.

Because it's his bad luck to be the best.

There is no murder. We make murder, and it matters only to us.