I'm doing one of three things: I'm writing. I'm staring out the window. Or I'm writhing on the floor.

I have no interest in understanding sheep, only eating them.

And be grateful. Our scars have the power to remind us that the past was real.

Human emotions are a gift from our animal ancestors. Cruelty is a gift humanity has given itself.

I ate his liver with some fava beans and a nice chianti

You will not persuade me with appeals to my intellectual vanity.

Whenever feasible, one should always try to eat the rude.

You must understand that when you are writing a novel you are not making anything up. It's all there and you just have to find it.

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.

The tragedy is not to die, but to be wasted.

I'm giving serious thought into eating yor wife” - Hannibal Lecter

She will not bow her head to any woman or man, so why, indeed, should she bow to a needle?

We have not invaded anyone. We have not conquered anyone. We have not grabbed their land, their culture, their history and tried to enforce our way of life on them.

Usually when you start the characters, the first thing is the script. Your design work is about telling the story. It's later that casting comes into play, but it's a huge component.

Lil Wayne, who is actually responsible for my career has always been a huge influence to me and one of my heroes.

We are all ruled in what we do by impulses; and these impulses are so organized that our actions in general serve for our self preservation and that of the race.

Progress is not achieved by luck or accident, but by working on yourself daily.

Sweeter than any sungMy songs that found no tongue;Nobler than any factMy wish that failed of act.Others shall sing the song,Others shall right the wrong,-Finish what I begin,And all I fail of win.

Every expression of true beauty can be acknowledged as a path leading to an encounter with the Lord Jesus.

Ne'er saw I, never felt, a calm so deep! The river glideth at his own sweet will; Dear God! the very houses seem asleep; And all that mighty heart is lying still!

Is there not a sort of remorse that precedes sin? Was it remorse at the very fact that I existed?