How seldom we recognize the sound when the bolt of our fate slides home.

I think it's easy to mistake understanding for empathy - we want empathy so badly. Maybe learning to make that distinction is part of growing up. It's hard and ugly to know somebody can understand you without even liking you.

I found, and find, the scrutiny of Dr. Lecter uncomfortable, intrusive, like the humming of your thoughts when they x-ray your head.

It's hard to have anything isn't it? Rare to get it, hard to keep it. This is a damn slippery planet.

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

You know how cats do. They hide to die. Dogs come home.

You would think such a day would tremble to begin . . .