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

The very air had screams smeared on it. He flinched from the noise in this silent room.

Gratitude’s got a short half-life, Clarice.

We can only learn so much and live.

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

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.

Lecter is so lucid, so perceptive; he's trained in psychiatry... and he's a mass murderer.