In The End Words Are Just Wind.

Go Ahead, Call Me All The Names You Want," Sansa Said Airily. "you Won't Dare When I'm Married To Joffrey. You'll Have To Bow And Call Me Your Grace." She Shrieked As Arya Flung The Orange Across The Table. It Caught Her In The Middle Of The Forehead With A Wet Squish And Plopped Down Into Her Lap. "you Have Juice On Your Face, Your Grace ," Arya Said.

It's Different For Every Writer. It's Not A Career For Anyone Who Needs Security. It's A Career For Gamblers. It's A Career Of Ups And Downs.

Now I Understand Why King Stannis Let The Wildlings Through The Wall. He Means For Us To Eat Them.

When The End Comes, I Will Meet It Raging.

The North Remembers, Lord Davos. The North Remembers, And The Mummer’s Farce Is Almost Done. My Son Is Home.