Jon Lied ... Loudly, As If That

For Herself, She Wanted Sleet And Ice, Howling Winds, Thunder To Shake The Very Stones Of The Red Keep. She Wanted A Storm To Match Her Rage.

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.

I Think My Very Earliest Stories Were All Intellectual Exercises And I Was Writing From Experiences I Had Never Had About Characters Who Were About An Inch Deep.

Bran Thought About It. 'can A Man Still Be Brave If He's Afraid?' 'that Is The Only Time A Man Can Be Brave,' His Father Told Him.

The Greatest Fools Are Ofttimes More Clever Than The Men Who Laugh At Them.