An Awful Lot Of Fantasy, And Even

When The Snows Fall And The White Winds Blow, The Lone Wolf Dies But The Pack Survives.

She Should Be On A Hill Somewhere, Under A Fruit Tree, With The Sun And Clouds Above Her And The Rain To Wash Her Clean.

It Was A Hollow Victory They Gave Me. A Crown...it Was The Girl I Prayed Them For. Your Sister, Safe... And Mine Again As She Was Meant To Be. I Ask You, Ned, What Good Is It To Wear A Crown?

Power Is A Trick. It Lies Where We Believe It Lies.

You Could Make A Poultice Out Of Mud To Cool A Fever. You Could Plant Seeds In Mud And Grow A Crop To Feed Your Children. Mud Would Nourish You, Where Fire Would Only Consume You, But Fools And Children And Young Girls Would Choose Fire Every Time.