When the snows fall and the white winds blow, the lone wolf dies but the pack survives.

My own heroes are the dreamers, those men and women who tried to make the world a better place than when they found it, whether in small ways or great ones. Some succeeded, some failed, most had mixed results... but it is the effort that's heroic, as I see it. Win or lose, I admire those who fight the good fight.

It was the easiest thing in the world for Arya to step up behind him and stab him. “Is there gold hidden in the village?” she shouted as she drove the blade up through his back. “Is there silver? Gems?” She stabbed twice more. “Is there food? Where is Lord Beric?” She was on top of him by then, still stabbing. “Where did he go? How many men were with him? How many knights? How many bowmen? How many, how many, how many, how many, how many, how many? is there gold in the village?

Ofttimes a very small man can cast a very large shadow.

I have a huge emotional attachment to characters I've created, especially the viewpoint characters.

If I die, I die friendless and abandoned. What choice did that leave him, but to live?

Armor yourself in it, and it will never be used against you