As We Sin, So Do We Suffer

It's Really Irritating When You Open A Book, And 10 Pages Into It You Know That The Hero You Met On Page One Or Two Is Gonna Come Through Unscathed, Because He's The Hero. This Is Completely Unreal, And I Don't Like It.

I Have A Hole Where My Heart Should Be, She Thought, And Nowhere Else To Go.

There Are Two Kinds Of Writers. There Are Architects And Gardeners. The Architects Do Blueprints Before They Drive The First Nail. The Gardeners Just Dig A Hole And Plant The Seed And See What Comes Up.

We're All Just Songs In The End. If We Are Lucky.

Needle Was Robb And Bran And Rickon, Her Mother And Her Father, Even Sansa. Needle Was Winterfell's Grey Walls, And The Laughter Of Its People. Needle Was The Summer Snows, Old Nan's Stories, The Heart Tree With Its Red Leaves And Scary Face, The Warm Earthy Smell Of The Glass Gardens, The Sound Of The North Wind Rattling The Shutters Of Her Room. Needle Was Jon Snow's Smile. He Used To Mess My Hair And Call Me "little Sister," She Remembered, And Suddenly There Were Tears In Her Eyes.