There Are No Heroes...in Life, The Monsters

I Take No Joy In Mead Nor Meat, And Song And Laughter Have Become Suspicious Strangers To Me. I Am A Creature Of Grief And Dust And Bitter Longings. There Is An Empty Place Within Me Where My Heart Was Once.

There Are Worse Ways To Die Than Warm And Drunk.

The Truth Of It Is, Writers Do Have Peculiar Relationships With Their Characters. They Are Our Children In More Senses Than One. They Are Born Of Our Imaginations, Carry Much Of Ourselves In Them, And Embody Whatever Dreams We Dream Of Immortality.

Wizards Die The Same As Other Men, Once You Cut Their Heads Off.

He Wants You To Smile And Smell Sweet And Be His Lady Love. He Wants To Hear You Recite All Your Pretty Little Words The Way The Septa Taught You. He Wants You To Love Him... And Fear Him.