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

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

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

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

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.

There is a common emotion we all recognize and have not yet named -- the happy anticipation of being able to feel contempt.

The advantage of beating a mute is he can't tell on you.