Drifting snowflakes brushed her face as light as lover’s kisses, and melted on her cheeks. At the center of the garden, beside the statue of the weeping woman that lay broken and half-buried on the ground, she turned her face up to the sky and closed her eyes. She could feel the snow on her lashes, taste it on her lips. It was the taste of Winterfell. The taste of innocence. The taste of dreams.

Some gave me soft words and some blunt, some made excuses, some promises, some only lied. In the end words are just wind.

I've been very lucky. There were times when I was afraid I would never sell another book, but I never doubted I'd write another book.

He who hurries through life hurries to his grave.

If you would wed, wed. If not, take your pleasure where you find it. There's little enough of it in this world." - Oberyn

As Daenerys Targaryen rose to her feet, her black hissed, pale smoke venting from its mouth and nostrils. The other two pulled away from her breasts and added their voices to the call, translucent wings unfolding and stirring the air, and for the first time in hundreds of years, the night came alive with the music of dragons.

The more people you love, the weaker you are.