Ideas are cheap. I have more ideas now than I could ever write up. To my mind, it's the execution that is all-important.

You do not steal from the dragon, oh, no. The dragon remembers.

She might have wept then, had not the sky begun to do it for her.

And pray that he is the man I think he is, he finished silently, and not the man I fear he has become.

Viserys sold my mother's crown, and men called him a beggar. I shall keep this one, so men will call me a queen. (Daenerys)

A bear! A bear! All black and brown and covered in hair!

Needle was Robb and Bran and Rickon, her mother and her father, even Sansa. Needle was Winterfell's grey walls, and the laughter of its people. Needle was the summer snows, Old Nan's stories, the heart tree with its red leaves and scary face, the warm earthy smell of the glass gardens, the sound of the north wind rattling the shutters of her room. Needle was Jon Snow's smile. He used to mess my hair and call me "little sister," she remembered, and suddenly there were tears in her eyes.