Catelyn had never liked this godswood. She had been born a Tully, at Riverrun far to the south, on the Red Fork of the Trident. The godswood there was a garden, bright and airy, where tall redwoods spread dappled shadows across tinkling streams, birds sang from hidden nests, and the air was spicy with the scent of flowers.

His time was past, her handmaid Irri declared. No man should live longer than his teeth.

For the night is dark and full of terrors.

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

And when you have it, what then? Some secrets are safer kept hidden. Some secrets are too dangerous to share, even with those you love and trust.

I was just a kid selling monster stories to the kids in the projects, complete with a dramatic reading, making the werewolf sounds. My career was aborted early on because one of my main customers started to have nightmares and his mother came to my mother and my mother shut down my whole business.

If somebody dies and you just go get more popcorn, it’s a superficial experience isn’t it?