The tragedy is not to die, but to be wasted.

Spaces devoted to Hannibal Lecter’s earliest years differ from the other archives in being incomplete. Some are static scenes, fragmentary, like painted attic shards held together by blank plaster. Other rooms hold sound and motion, great snakes wrestling and heaving in the dark and lit in flashes. Pleas and screaming fill some places on the grounds where Hannibal himself cannot go. But the corridors do not echo screaming, and there is music if you like.

Intense fear comes in waves; the body can't stand it for long at a time.

Fear comes with imagination, it’s a penalty, it’s the price of imagination.

I would not have had that happen to you. Discourtesy is unspeakably ugly to me.

Before Me you are a slug in the sun. You are privy to a great Becoming and you recognize nothing. You are an ant in the after-birth.It is in your nature to do one thing correctly: before Me you rightly tremble. Fear is not what you owe Me, Lounds, you and the other pismires. You owe Me awe.

Life's too slippery for books, Clarice; anger appears as lust, lupus presents as hives.