Clean Hands, Sansa. Whatever You Do, Make

I Work For Two Years On A Book And It Comes Out And Two Days Later I've Got My First E-mail: When Is The Next One Coming Out?

I Was Just A Kid Selling Monster Stories To The Kids In The Projects, Complete With A Dramatic Reading, Making The Werewolf Sounds. My Career Was Aborted Early On Because One Of My Main Customers Started To Have Nightmares And His Mother Came To My Mother And My Mother Shut Down My Whole Business.

A Lion Doesn't Concern Itself With The Opinion Of Sheep.

We Know Truth For The Cruel Instrument It Is. Beauty Is Infinitely Preferable To Truth.

Needle Was Robb And Bran And Rickon, Her Mother And Her Father, Even Sansa. Needle Was Winterfell's Grey Walls, And The Laughter Of Its People. Needle Was The Summer Snows, Old Nan's Stories, The Heart Tree With Its Red Leaves And Scary Face, The Warm Earthy Smell Of The Glass Gardens, The Sound Of The North Wind Rattling The Shutters Of Her Room. Needle Was Jon Snow's Smile. He Used To Mess My Hair And Call Me "little Sister," She Remembered, And Suddenly There Were Tears In Her Eyes.