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A census taker tried to quantify me once. I ate his liver with some fava beans and a big Amarone. Go back to school, little Starling.

Thomas Harris

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Thomas Harris
Age: 84
Born: 1940
Born: April 11
Author
Novelist
Screenwriter
Writer
Jackson
Tennessee
William Thomas Harris III
Back
Taker
Little
Census
Liver
Beans
Tried
Bigs
Starling
School
Starlings
Littles
Quantify

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Nothing makes us more vulnerable than loneliness except greed.
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One can only see what one observes, and one observes only things which are already in the mind.
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And your dinner for the orchestra officials. Haven't you ever had people coming over and no time to shop? You have to make do with what's in the fridge, Clarice. May I call you Clarice?
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The very air had screams smeared on it. He flinched from the noise in this silent room.
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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.
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What he has in addition is pure empathy and projection,” Dr. Bloom said. “He can assume your point of view, or mine – and maybe some other points of view that scare and sicken him. It’s an uncomfortable gift, Jack. Perception’s a tool that’s pointed on both ends.
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You will not persuade me with appeals to my intellectual vanity.
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I would not have had that happen to you. Discourtesy is unspeakably ugly to me.
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God's creatures who cried themselves to sleep stirred to cry again.
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There is a common emotion we all recognize and have not yet named -- the happy anticipation of being able to feel contempt.
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Before Me you are a slug in the sun. You are privy to a great Becoming and you recognize nothing. You are an ant in the after-birth.It is in your nature to do one thing correctly: before Me you rightly tremble. Fear is not what you owe Me, Lounds, you and the other pismires. You owe Me awe.
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And be grateful. Our scars have the power to remind us that the past was real.
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He was numb except for dreading the loss of numbness.
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You would think such a day would tremble to begin . . .
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Life's too slippery for books, Clarice anger appears as lust, lupus presents as hives.
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When the Fox hears the Rabbit scream he comes a-runnin', but not to help.
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What does he do, Clarice? What is the first and principal thing he does, what need does he serve by killing? He covets. How do we begin to covet? We begin by coveting what we see every day.
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In her way, she was a hard one. Faith in any sort of natural justice was nothing but a night light she knew of that. Whatever she did, she would end the same way with everyone does: flat on her back with a tube in her nose, wondering, Is this all?
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I found, and find, the scrutiny of Dr. Lecter uncomfortable, intrusive, like the humming of your thoughts when they x-ray your head.
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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.
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