Lady," she whimpered softly, wondering if she would meet her wolf again when she was dead.

When you tear out a man's tongue, you are not proving him a liar, you're only telling the world that you fear what he might say.

The truth of it is, writers do have peculiar relationships with their characters. They are our children in more senses than one. They are born of our imaginations, carry much of ourselves in them, and embody whatever dreams we dream of immortality.

What was it Catelyn Stark had called them, that night at Bitterbridge? The knights of summer. And now it was autumn and they were falling like leaves.

Ser Jaime?" Even in soiled pink satin and torn lace, Brienne looked more like a man in a gown than a proper woman."I am grateful, but...you were well away. Why come back?" A dozen quips came to mind, each crueler than the one before, but Jaime only shrugged. "I dreamed of you," he said.

Great wrongs have been done you, but the past is dust. The future may yet be won.

I am only a little lion, child, and I vow, I shall not savage you.