I feel satisfaction at the end of the day when I've written a scene that I really like or when I write a good line of dialogue that I read out to my wife or something like that. But there's also days where it's just bloody agony and I go, 'ugh, this is such crap! Why did I think I had any talent?

Dragons old and young, true and false, bright and dark. And you. A small man with a big shadow, snarling in the midst of all.

His eyes were open wounds beneath his heavy brows, a blue as dark as the sea by night.

Minds are like swords, I do fear. The old ones go to rust.

Ten years from now, no one is going to care how quickly the books came out. The only thing that will matter, the only thing anyone will remember, is how good they were. That's my main concern, and always will be.

Don't write outlines; I hate outlines.

Give a thing a name and it will somehow come to be.