There is something old and true in fantasy that speaks to something deep within us, to the child who dreamt that one day he would hunt the forests of the night, and feast beneath the hollow hills, and find a love to last forever somewhere south of Oz and north of Shangri-La.

I want to make my kingdom beautiful, to fill it with fat men and pretty maids and laughing children. I want my people to smile when they see me ride by, the way Viserys said they smiled for my father. (Daenerys)

That night the wind was howling almost like a wolf and there were some real wolves off to the west giving it lessons.

The Lord of Winterfell would always be a Stark

Why do our dreams become so much smaller when they finally come true?

Summer will end soon enough, and childhood as well.

That was the way of this cold world, where men fished the sea and dug in the ground and died, whilst women brought forth short-lived children from beds of blood and pain.