Gratitude’s got a short half-life, Clarice.
It's hard... to shake off something that's already under your skin.
I found, and find, the scrutiny of Dr. Lecter uncomfortable, intrusive, like the humming of your thoughts when they x-ray your head.
I would not have had that happen to you. Discourtesy is unspeakably ugly to me.
Back at his chair he cannot remember what he was reading. He feels the books beside him to find the one that is warm.
The tragedy is not to die, but to be wasted.