but the real enemy is the cold. It steals up on you quieter than Will, and at first you shiver and your teeth chatter and you stamp your feet and dream of mulled wine and nice hot fires. It burns, it does. Nothing burns like the cold. But only for a while. Then it gets inside you and starts to fill you up, and after a while you don't have the strength to fight it. It's easier just to sit down ot go to sleep. They say you don't feel any pain toward the end. First you go weak and drowsy, and everything starts to fade, and then it's like sinking into a sea of warm milk. Peaceful, like.

Now I understand why King Stannis let the wildlings through the Wall. He means for us to eat them.

Men are men, vows are words, and words are wind.

I don't ever want t' leave this cave, Jon Snow. Not ever

In the game of thrones, even the humblest pieces can have wills of their own. Sometimes they refuse to make the moves you've planned for them.

If ice can burn, then love and hate can mate.

All fiction has to have a certain amount of truth in it to be powerful.