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 sees very clearly - he damn sure sees through me. It's hard to accept that someone can understand you without wishing you well. At Starling's age it hadn't happened to her much.

It's hard... to shake off something that's already under your skin.

We routinely leave our small children in day care among strangers. At the same time, in our guilt we evince paranoia about strangers and foster fear in children.

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

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

Nothing made me happen. I happened.