The unseen enemy is always the most fearsome.

There was an agelessness about him, a stillness; on Roose Bolton's face, rage and joy looked much the same.

A hound will die for you, but never lie to you. And he'll look you straight in the face.

No one will be alive by the last book. In fact, they all die in the fifth. The sixth book will be just a thousand-page description of snow blowing across the graves.

"You look different now. Like a proper little girl," (said Gendry.) "I look like an oak tree, with all these stupid acorns," (said Arya.) "Nice, though. A nice oak tree. [...] You even smell nice for a change."

He had found over the years that silence sometimes yielded more than questions. And so it was this time.

She should be on a hill somewhere, under a fruit tree, with the sun and clouds above her and the rain to wash her clean.