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.

He was numb except for dreading the loss of numbness.

I have no interest in understanding sheep, only eating them.

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

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

Did you ever think, Clarice, why the Philistines don't understand you? It's because you are the answer to Samson's riddle. You are the honey in the lion.

Over this odd world, this half the world that's dark now, I have to hunt a thing that lives on tears.