Not All Men Were Meant To Dance

I Beg You Both, Take Heart.'(varys) 'whose?' Asked Tyrion Sourly. He Could Think Of Several Tempting Choices.

All Fiction, If It's Successful, Is Going To Appeal To The Emotions. Emotion Is Really What Fiction Is All About. That's Not To Say Fiction Can't Be Thoughtful, Or Present Some Interesting Or Provocative Ideas To Make Us Think. But If You Want To Present An Intellectual Argument, Nonfiction Is A Better Tool. You Can Drive A Nail With A Shoe But A Hammer Is A Better Tool For That. But Fiction Is About Emotional Resonance, About Making Us Feel Things On A Primal And Visceral Level.

His Sister Liked To Think Of Herself As Lord Tywin With Teats, But She Was Wrong. Their Father Had Been As Relentless And Implacable As A Glacier, Where Cercei Was All Wildfire, Especially When Thwarted.

As Daenerys Targaryen Rose To Her Feet, Her Black Hissed, Pale Smoke Venting From Its Mouth And Nostrils. The Other Two Pulled Away From Her Breasts And Added Their Voices To The Call, Translucent Wings Unfolding And Stirring The Air, And For The First Time In Hundreds Of Years, The Night Came Alive With The Music Of Dragons.

An Honest Kiss, A Little Kindness, Everyone Deserves That Much, However Big Or Small.