Was There Ever A War

Winter Will Never Come For The Likes Of Us. Should We Die In Battle, They Will Surely Sing Of Us, And It’s Always Summer In The Songs. In The Songs All Knights Are Gallant, All Maids Are Beautiful, And The Sun Is Always Shining.

Now I Understand Why King Stannis Let The Wildlings Through The Wall. He Means For Us To Eat Them.

Fantasy Is Silver And Scarlet, Indigo And Azure, Obsidian Veined With Gold And Lapis Lazuli. Reality Is Plywood And Plastic, Done Up In Mud Brown And Olive Drab. Fantasy Tastes Of Habaneros And Honey, Cinnamon And Cloves, Rare Red Meat And Wines As Sweet As Summer. Reality Is Beans And Tofu, And Ashes At The End.

A Man Could Not Always Be Where He Belonged, Though.

Give Me Honorable Enemies Rather Than Ambitious Ones, And I'll Sleep More Easily By Night.