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

Typhoid and swans - it all comes from the same place.

Writing novels is the hardest thing I've ever done, including digging irrigation ditches.

On a related subject, Signore Pazzi, I must confess to you: I'm giving serious thought to eating your wife.

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

The worm that destroys you is the temptation to agree with your critics, to get their approval.

Being smart spoils a lot of things, doesn't it?