Some writers enjoy writing, I am told. Not me. I enjoy having written.

When I sleep I turn into a wolf. Bran turned his face away and looked back out into the night. Do wolves dreams?

I wanted to write a big novel, something epic in scale.

Aemon’s blind white eyes came open. “Egg?” he said, as the rain streamed down his cheeks. “Egg, I dreamed that I was old.

I am the blood of the dragon. Do not presume to teach me lessons.

An artist has an obligation to tell the truth. [...] that the true horrors of human history derive not from orcs and Dark Lords, but from ourselves. We are the monsters. (And the heroes too). Each of us has within himself the capacity for great good, and great evil.

I prefer to work with grey characters rather than black and white.