If You Die Before You Say Her

The Odd Thing About Being A Writer Is You Do Tend To Lose Yourself In Your Books. Sometimes It Seems Like Real Life Is Flickering By And You're Hardly A Part Of It. You Remember The Events In Your Books Better Than You Remember The Events That Actually Took Place When You Were Writing Them.

And Who Are You, The Proud Lord Said That I Must Bow So Low? Only A Cat Of A Different Coat, That's All The Truth I Know. In A Coat Of Gold Or A Coat Of Red, A Lion Still Has Claws. And, Mine Are As Long And Sharp, My Lord As Long And Sharp As Yours. And So He Spoke, And So He Spoke, That Lord Of Castamere, But Now The Rains Weep O'er His Hall, With No One There To Hear. Yes, Now The Rains Weep O'er His Hall, And Not A Soul To Hear.

There Are No Men Like Me. There's Only Me

I Thank You For Calling Them Off, Young Ser. I Promise You, They Would Have Found Me Indigestible.

I Don't Want To Be A Queen. I Want To Be The Queen.