If Ice Can Burn, Then

The Gods Made The Earth For All Men T' Share. Only When The Kings Come With Their Crowns And Steel Swords, They Claimed It Was All Theirs. "my Trees," They Said, "you Can't Eat Them Apples. My Stream, You Can't Fish Here. My Wood, You're Not T' Hunt. My Earth, My Water, My Castle, My Daughter, Keep Your Hands Away Or I'll Chop 'em Off, But Maybe If You Kneel T' Me I'll Let You Have A Sniff." You Call Us Thieves, But At Least A Thief Has T' Be Brave And Clever And Quick. A Kneeler Only Has T' Kneel.

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

Folly And Desperation Are Ofttimes Hard To Tell Apart.

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.

The Apples Stewed With Prunes Are Excellent, Except For The Prunes, I Won't Eat Prunes Myself. Well, There Was One Time When Hobb Chopped Them Up With Chesnuts And Carrots And Hid Them In A Hen. Never Trust A Cook, My Lord. They'll Prune You When You Least Expect It.