When the sun has set, no candle can replace it.

The years leech at a man's memories, even those he has vowed never to forget.

Fiction is lies; we're writing about people who never existed and events that never happened when we write fiction, whether its science fiction or fantasy or western mystery stories or so-called literary stories. All those things are essentially untrue. But it has to have a truth at the core of it.

Was there ever a war where only one side bled?

The pale pink light of dawn sparkled on branch and leaf and stone. Every blade of grass was carved from emerald, every drip of water turned to diamond. Flowers and mushrooms alike wore coats of glass. Even the mud puddles had a bright brown sheen. Through the shimmering greenery, the black tents of his brothers were encased in a fine glaze of ice. So there is magic beyond the Wall after all.

My biggest dream was to ruin the lives of my readers and crush their souls... And I really think that worked out pretty well for me.

Death is so terribly final, while life is full of possibilities.