You would think such a day would tremble to begin . . .

When the Fox hears the Rabbit scream he comes a-runnin', but not to help.

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.

You must understand that when you are writing a novel you are not making anything up. It's all there and you just have to find it.

Lecter is so lucid, so perceptive; he's trained in psychiatry... and he's a mass murderer.

Good-bye Clarice. Will you let me know if ever the lambs stop screaming?" "Yes." Pembry was taking her arm. It was go or fight him. "Yes," she said. "I'll tell you." "Do you promise?""Yes.

You will not persuade me with appeals to my intellectual vanity.