No existe misericordia en la Máquina verde; nosotros la creamos, fabricándola en las partes que han superado nuestro elemental cerebro de reptil. No existe el crimen, nosotros lo hemos creado y solo a nosotros nos incumbe.

They waited for the elevator. " Most people love butterflies and hate moth," he said. "But moths are more interesting - more engaging."
"They're destructive."
"Some are, a lot are, but they live in all kinds of ways. Just like we do." Silence for one floor.
"There's a moth, more than one in fact, that lives only on tears," he offered. "That's all they eat or drink."
"What kind of tears? Whose tears?"
"The tears of large land mammals, about our size.
The old definition of moth was, 'anything that gradually, silently eats, consumes, or wages any other thing.'
It was a verb for destruction too. . . .

that there had to be a place in the world for Mischa, a prime place vacated for her, and I came to think, Clarice, that the best place in the world was yours.

When the Fox hears the Rabbit scream he comes a-runnin', but not to help.

You know how cats do. They hide to die. Dogs come home.

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.