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

Ready when you are, Sergeant Pempbry.

And be grateful. Our scars have the power to remind us that the past was real.

He moves smoothly and slowly, carrying his concentration like a brimming cup.

A census taker tried to quantify me once. I ate his liver with some fava beans and a big Amarone. Go back to school, little Starling.

I collect church collapses, recreationally. Did you see the recent one in Sicily? Marvelous! The facade fell on sixty-five grandmothers at a special mass. Was that evil? If so, who did it? If he's up there, he just loves it, Officer Starling. Typhoid and swans - it all comes from the same place.

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.