- Razowski ! Dis moi où est l’enfant ou je te poche l’œil ! - D’abord c’est Monsieur Crétin ! Si t’es pas joli, sois au moins poli !
Think my name’s funny, do you? I’ve no need to ask yours. Red hair and a half me-down robe! You must be a Weasley.
Toute ma vie on m’a reproché d’être chiant, aujourd’hui vous me traitez de chieur, je considère ça comme une promotion.
Dear Clarice, I have followed with enthusiasm the course of your disgrace and public shaming. My own never bothered me except for the inconvenience of being incarcerated, but you may lack perspective. In our discussions down in the dungeon it was apparent to me that your father, the dead night watchman, figures largely in your value system. I think your success in putting an end to Jame Gumb’s career as a couturier pleased you most because you could imagine your father being pleased. But now, alas, you’re in bad odour with the FBI. Do you imagine your daddy being shamed by your disgrace? Do you see him in his plain pine box crushed by your failure; a sorry, petty end of a promising career? What is worst about this humiliation Clarice? Is it how your failure will reflect on your mommy and daddy? Is your worst fear that people will now and forever believe they were indeed just good old trailer camp tornado bait white trash and that perhaps you are too? By the way I couldn’t help noticing on the FBI’s rather dull public website that I have been hoisted from the Bureau’s archives of the common criminal and elevated to the more prestigious 10 Most Wanted list. Is this coincidence, or are you back on the case? If so, goody goody, cause I need to come out of retirement and return to public life. I imagine you sitting in a dark basement room bent over papers and computer screens. Is that accurate? Please tell me truly, Special Agent Starling. Regards, your old pal Hannibal Lecter, M.D. P.S. Clearly this new assignment is not your choice rather I suppose it is a part of the bargain but you accepted it Clarice. Your job is to craft my doom. So I am not sure how well I should wish you but I’m sure we’ll have a lot of fun. Tata, H.
- Oh l’enfant ! - Rho du calme il n’est pas toxique ! D’habitude faut pas me croire mais là il faut !
Si travailler veut dire être à quelques pas de toi, j’aime mieux comme travail essuyer les fesses de Saddam Hussein.
- J’ai une bonne et une mauvaise nouvelle. La bonne nouvelle c’est que ta maman est dans le coffre. - C’est quoi la mauvaise ? - Elle est vivante.
Je suis venu du bout du monde dans un seul but : vous voir me fuir, Clarice. Laissez-moi fuir, d’accord ?
Non. Stop ! Stop ! Stop ! Tu vas finir par crever un œil à quelqu’un. Et puis d’ailleurs tu ne sais même pas le prononcer : c’est LeviOsa, et pas leviosA.