Some doors are best left closed.

his snores sounded like ducks mating.

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.

We read fantasy to find the colors again, I think. To taste strong spices and hear the songs the sirens sang.

A bear! A bear! All black and brown and covered in hair!

A lot of writing takes place in the subconscious, and it's bound to have an effect.

So young," said Wyman Manderly, "Though mayhaps this was a blessing. Had he lived he would've grown up to be a Frey.