Nothing burns like the cold.

They say it grows so cold up here in winter that a man’s laughter freezes in his throat and chokes him to death,” Ned said evenly. “Perhaps that is why the Starks have so little humor.

The north remembers, Lord Davos. The north remembers, and the mummer’s farce is almost done. My son is home.

Now you know " the crow whispered as it sat on his shoulder. "Now you know why you must live." "Why " Bran said not understanding falling falling. "Because winter is coming.

Wind and words. We are only human, and the gods have fashioned us for love. That is our great glory, and our great tragedy.

When you smell our candles burning, what does it make you think of, my child?" Winterfell, she might have said. I smell snow and smoke and pine needles. I smell the stables. I smell Hodor laughing, and Jon and Robb battling in the yard, and Sansa singing about some stupid lady fair. I smell the crypts where the stone kings sit. I smell hot bread baking. I smell the godswood. I smell my wolf. I smell her fur, almost as if she were still beside me. "I don't smell anything," she said.

Lord Snow wants to take my place now.' He sneered. 'I'd have an easier time teaching a wolf to juggle than you will training this aurochs.' 'I'll take that wager, Ser Alliser', Jon said. 'I'd love to see Ghost juggle.