When Will Graham Could Open His Right

In The Vaults Of Our Hearts And Brains, Danger Waits. All The Chambers Are Not Lovely, Light And High. There Are Holes In The Floor Of The Mind, Like Those In A Medieval Dungeon Floor - The Stinking Oubliettes, Named For Forgetting, Bottle-shaped Cells In Solid Rock With The Trapdoor In The Top. Nothing Escapes From Them Quietly To Ease Us. A Quake, Some Betrayal By Our Safeguards, And Sparks Of Memory Fire The Noxious Gases - Things Trapped For Years Fly Free, Ready To Explode In Pain And Drive Us To Dangerous Behavior.

It Occurred To Dr. Lecter In The Moment That With All His Knowledge And Intrusion, He Could Never Entirely Predict Her, Or Own Her At All. He Could Feed The Caterpillar, He Could Whisper Through The Chrysalis; What Hatched Out Followed Its Own Nature And Was Beyond Him. He Wondered If She Had The .45 On Her Leg Beneath The Gown. Clarice Starling Smiled At Him Then, The Cabochons Caught The Firelight And The Monster Was Lost In Self-congratulation At His Own Exquisite Taste And Cunning.

Fear Comes With Imagination, It’s A Penalty, It’s The Price Of Imagination.

It Occured To Starling How Much Roden Would Benefit From An Elbow Smash In The Hinge Of His Jaw.

We Rarely Get To Prepare Ourselves In Meadows Or On Graveled Walks; We Do It On Short Notice In Places Without Windows, Hospital Corridors, Rooms Like This Lounge With Its Cracked Plastic Sofa And Cinzano Ashtrays, Where The Cafe Curtains Cover Blank Concrete. In Rooms Like This, With So Little Time, We Prepare Our Gestures, Get Them By Heart So We Can Do Them When We're Frightened In The Face Of Doom.