I Have Always Been A Dark Writer.

Kill The Boy, Jon Snow. Winter Is Almost Upon Us. Kill The Boy And Let The Man Be Born.

Contempt, Thought Tyrion, The Universal Tongue.

He Was Beastly Tired, But It Was Hard To Stop. One More Book, He Had Told Himself, Then I'll Stop. One More Folio, Just One More. One More Page, Then I'll Go Up And Rest And Get A Bite To Eat. But There Was Always Another Page After That One, And Another After That, And Another Book Waiting Underneath The Pile. I'll Just Take A Quick Peek To See What This One Is About, He'd Think, And Before He Knew He Would Be Halfway Through It.

I Wonder What The High Septon Would Have To Say About The Sanctity Of Oaths Sworn While Dead Drunk, Chained To A Wall, With A Sword Pressed To Your Chest?

Every Flight Begins With A Fall.