Nothing Burns Like The Cold.

This Is The Bravo’s Dance, The Water Dance, Swift And Sudden. All Men Are Made Of Water, Do You Know This? When You Pierce Them, The Water Leaks Out And They Die.

I Prefer My History Dead. Dead History Is Writ In Ink, The Living Sort In Blood.

The Best Fantasy Is Written In The Language Of Dreams. It Is Alive As Dreams Are Alive, More Real Than Real, For A Moment At Least, That Long Magic Moment Before We Wake.

We Look At Mountains And Call Them Eternal, And They Seem... But In The Course Of Time, Mountains Rise And Fall, Rivers Change Their Courses, Starts Fall From The Sky, And Great Cities Sink Beneath The Sea. Even Gods Die, We Think. Everything Changes.

Clean Hands, Sansa. Whatever You Do, Make Certain Your Hands Are Clean." ~ Lord Petyr Baelish, Littlefinger