Quotes About Clarice

Life's too slippery for books, Clarice; anger appears as lust, lupus presents as hives.

He held out the bottle. Clarice's hand was steady as she took it from him. It is poison , she thought distantly. It will kill her. She tried to be horrified at the thought, but she couldn't manage it.

I was now old enough to see the day when the average teenager (Clarice didn't qualify) couldn't spot a Terminator reference. My time had clearly passed. If we'd been Eskimos, I would have crawled out onto the ice to die. First things first, though. I walked over and pushed Clarice's legs off the couch.

Did you ever think, Clarice, why the Philistines don't understand you? It's because you are the answer to Samson's riddle. You are the honey in the lion.

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.

Good-bye Clarice. Will you let me know if ever the lambs stop screaming? Yes. Pembry was taking her arm. It was go or fight him. Yes, she said. I'll tell you. Do you promise?Yes.

The lambs will stop for now. But, Clarice, you judge yourself with all the mercy of the dungeon scales at Threave; you'll have to earn it again and again, the blessed silence. Because it's the plight that drives you, seeing the plight, and the plight will not end, ever.

Well, Clarice, have the lambs stopped screaming?

sight of Clarice Starling running through the falling leaves on the forest path was well established now in the memory palace of his mind. It is a source of pleasure

Good-bye, Clarice. Will you let me know if ever the lambs stop screaming?

Mientras tenga preguntas y no tenga respuesta continuaré escribiendo.

She felt the phrase "demand her rights" had lain inside her forever, waiting.

What am I in this instant? I am a typewriter making the dry keys echo in the dark and humid early hours. For a long time I haven't been people. They wanted me to be an object. I'm an object. An object dirty with blood. That creates other objects and the typewriter creates all of us. It demands. The mechanism demands and demands my life. But I don't obey totally: if I must be an object let it be an object that screams.