Nothing Made Me Happen. I Happened.

The Tragedy Is Not To Die, But To Be Wasted.

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.

Typhoid And Swans - It All Comes From The Same Place.

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?

He Was Numb Except For Dreading The Loss Of Numbness.