There Is No Murder. We Make Murder,

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

The Worm That Destroys You Is The Temptation To Agree With Your Critics, To Get Their Approval.

I Have No Interest In Understanding Sheep, Only Eating Them.

Lecter Is So Lucid, So Perceptive; He's Trained In Psychiatry... And He's A Mass Murderer.

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.