You could make a poultice out of mud to cool a fever. You could plant seeds in mud and grow a crop to feed your children. Mud would nourish you, where fire would only consume you, but fools and children and young girls would choose fire every time.

You should grieve if a fictional character is killed. You should care.

The air smelled of paper and dust and years.

Most men would rather deny a hard truth than face it.

Love is sweet, dearest Ned, but it cannot change a man's nature. -- Lyanna

Faith is like porridge. Better with milk and honey.

In the end words are just wind.