I Would Choose Freedom Over Comfort Every

She Just Laughed In His Face And Told Him She'd Sooner Crawl In A Bed With His Father's Leeches Before She'd Crawl In One With Him. She Stopped Laughing When He Put His Knife In Her.

Men's Lives Have Meaning, Not Their Deaths.

But The Real Enemy Is The Cold. It Steals Up On You Quieter Than Will, And At First You Shiver And Your Teeth Chatter And You Stamp Your Feet And Dream Of Mulled Wine And Nice Hot Fires. It Burns, It Does. Nothing Burns Like The Cold. But Only For A While. Then It Gets Inside You And Starts To Fill You Up, And After A While You Don't Have The Strength To Fight It. It's Easier Just To Sit Down Ot Go To Sleep. They Say You Don't Feel Any Pain Toward The End. First You Go Weak And Drowsy, And Everything Starts To Fade, And Then It's Like Sinking Into A Sea Of Warm Milk. Peaceful, Like.

So Young," Said Wyman Manderly, "though Mayhaps This Was A Blessing. Had He Lived He Would've Grown Up To Be A Frey.

I Have Always Regarded Historical Fiction And Fantasy As Sisters Under The Skin, Two Genres Separated At Birth.