History is a wheel, for the nature of man is fundamentally unchanging. What has happened before will perforce happen again.

One voyage to the East and a man could live as rich as a lord until the end of his days. When he'd been younger, Davos had dreamed of making such voyages himself. But the years went dancing by like moths around a flame, and somehow the time had never been quite right.

But my philosophy is that plot advancement is not what the experience of reading fiction is about. If all we care about is advancing the plot, why read novels? We can just read Cliffs Notes.

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

I've said in many interviews that I like my fiction to be unpredictable. I like there to be considerable suspense.

Ser Cleos looked like a weasel, fought like a goose, and had the courage of an especially brave ewe.

Why is it that when one man builds a wall, the next man immediately needs to know what's on the other side?