Being Smart Spoils A Lot Of Things,

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.

Hannibal At Eighteen Was Rooting For Mephistopheles And Contemptuous Of Faust, But He Only Half-listened To The Climax. He Was Watching And Breathing Lady Murasaki...

Spaces Devoted To Hannibal Lecter’s Earliest Years Differ From The Other Archives In Being Incomplete. Some Are Static Scenes, Fragmentary, Like Painted Attic Shards Held Together By Blank Plaster. Other Rooms Hold Sound And Motion, Great Snakes Wrestling And Heaving In The Dark And Lit In Flashes. Pleas And Screaming Fill Some Places On The Grounds Where Hannibal Himself Cannot Go. But The Corridors Do Not Echo Screaming, And There Is Music If You Like.

I'll Confess It Is Pleasant To Look At You Asleep. You're Quite Beautiful, Clarice.

The Very Air Had Screams Smeared On It. He Flinched From The Noise In This Silent Room.