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The Pale Pink Light Of Dawn Sparkled On Branch And Leaf And Stone. Every Blade Of Grass Was Carved From Emerald, Every Drip Of Water Turned To Diamond. Flowers And Mushrooms Alike Wore Coats Of Glass. Even The Mud Puddles Had A Bright Brown Sheen. Through The Shimmering Greenery, The Black Tents Of His Brothers Were Encased In A Fine Glaze Of Ice. So There Is Magic Beyond The Wall After All.

-George R. R. Martin

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The Pale Pink Light

George R. R. Martin

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The Pale Pink Light Of Dawn Sparkled On Branch And Leaf And Stone. Every Blade Of Grass Was Carved From Emerald, Every Drip Of Water Turned To Diamond. Flowers And Mushrooms Alike Wore Coats Of Glass. Even The Mud Puddles Had A Bright Brown Sheen. Through The Shimmering Greenery, The Black Tents Of His Brothers Were Encased In A Fine Glaze Of Ice. So There Is Magic Beyond The Wall After All.

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I Crossed A Thousand Leagues To Come To You, And Lost The Best Part Of Me Along The Way. Don't Tell Me To Leave.

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What Could He Have Done, One Man Against So Many?" He Could Have Tried, Brienne Thought.

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Death, There Will Be Death, Aye. Your Lordship Lost A Son At The Red Wedding. I Lost Four Upon The Blackwater. And Why? Because The Lannisters Stole The Throne. Go To King’s Landing And Look On Tommen With Your Own Eyes, If You Doubt Me. A Blind Man Could See It. What Does Stannis Offer You? Vengeance. Vengeance For My Sons And Yours, For Your Husbands And Your Fathers And Your Brothers. Vengeance For Your Murdered Lord, Your Murdered King, Your Butchered Princes. Vengeance!

The Man Is As Useless As Nipples On A Breastplate.

My Dreams Are The Usual Incoherent Nonsense. Like Most Writers, At Some Point In My Career I Thought, Well, I Have These Great Dreams But I Always Forget Them In The Morning So I’ll Leave A Pad On My Bedside Table So I Can Write It Down, And Then You Have Some Incredible Dream And You Write It Down And The Next Morning You Wake Up And You’ve Written ‘purple Socks’.

Only The Soldier Pines And Sentinels Still Showed Green; The Broadleaf Trees Had Donned Mantles Of Russet And Gold, Or Else Uncloaked Themselves To Scratch Against The Sky With Branches Brown And Bare.

Trust Is Earned. Like Gold.

What Are Gods For If Not To Sit In Judgment Over Men? The Many-faced God Does Not Weigh Men's Souls, However. He Gives His Gift To The Best Of Men As He Gives It To The Worst. Elsewise The Good Would Live Forever.

I Just Need To Rest, That’s All, To Rest And Sleep Some, And Maybe Die A Little.

Children Are A Battle Of A Different Sort. ... A Battle Without Banners Or Warhorns But No Less Fierce.

Kind? How Boring That Would Be. I Aspire To Be Wicked.

Time Is Different For A Tree Than For A Man. Sun And Soil And Water, These Are The Things A Weirwood Understands, Not Days And Years And Centuries. For Men, Time Is A River. We Are Trapped In Its Flow, Hurtling From Past To Present, Always In The Same Direction. The Lives Of Trees Are Different. They Root And Grow And Die In One Place, And That River Does Not Move Them. The Oak Is The Acorn, The Acorn Is The Oak.

Every Once In A Very Long While, Lord Tywin Lannister Would Actually Threaten To Smile; He Never Did, But The Threat Alone Was Terrible To Behold.

Sam Loved To Listen To Music And Make His Own Songs, To Wear Soft Velvets, To Play In The Castle Kitchen Beside The Cooks, Drinking In The Rich Smells As He Snitched Lemon Cakes And Blueberry Tarts. His Passions Were Books And Kittens And Dancing, Clumsy As He Was.

When The Sun Has Set, No Candle Can Replace It.

It's Different For Every Writer. It's Not A Career For Anyone Who Needs Security. It's A Career For Gamblers. It's A Career Of Ups And Downs.

Do You Want To Die Old And Craven In Your Bed?- How Else? Though Not Till I'm Done Reading.

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.

A Lot Of Fantasy Names Are Too Much. They’re Too Difficult To Pronounce. I Wanted The Flavour Of Medieval England. I Took Actual Names We Still Use Today, Like ‘robert’, And In Some Case I Tweaked Them A Little Bit. I Made ‘edward’ Into ‘eddard’. If You Look Back At Medieval Times, No One Knew How To Spell Their Own Names. There Are A Lot Of Variations That We’ve Lost.

There Are Worse Ways To Die Than Warm And Drunk.

All Men Are Fools, If Truth Be Told, But The Ones In Motley Are More Amusing Than Ones With Crowns.

She Is Not Truly Beautiful But Something About Her Draws The Eye.

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Madeleine M. Kunin

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