Will Martin
Will Martin
Will Martinis a New Zealand-born classical crossover singer...
apples hens never-trust
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.
grace growing pages
[Melisandre] "His Grace is growing fond of you." [Jon] "I can tell. He only threatened to behead me twice." Page 58
league way jaime-lannister
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.
wall men light
I am the sword in the darkness. I am the watcher on the walls. I am the fire that burns against the cold, the light that brings the dawn, the horn that wakes the sleepers, the shield that guards the realms of men.
hands laughing lips
she would die as she had lived, with an axe in her hand and a laugh upon her lips.
desperation folly hard
Folly and desperation are ofttimes hard to tell apart.
hands giving tyrion
The Gods give with one hand and take with the other.
wind ends
In the end words are just wind.
doubt weakness no-fear
I must show no fear, no weakness, no doubt.
dream pain real
but the real enemy is the cold. It steals up on you quieter than Will, and at first you shiver and your teeth chatter and you stamp your feet and dream of mulled wine and nice hot fires. It burns, it does. Nothing burns like the cold. But only for a while. Then it gets inside you and starts to fill you up, and after a while you don't have the strength to fight it. It's easier just to sit down ot go to sleep. They say you don't feel any pain toward the end. First you go weak and drowsy, and everything starts to fade, and then it's like sinking into a sea of warm milk. Peaceful, like.
prayer able done
Any act can be a prayer, if done as well as we are able.
ivory skins steel
My skin has turned to porcelain, to ivory, to steel.
brother war father
I've lost a hand, a father, a son, a sister, and a lover, and soon enough I will lose a brother. And yet they keep telling me House Lannister won this war.
dream eye kissing
Drifting snowflakes brushed her face as light as lover’s kisses, and melted on her cheeks. At the center of the garden, beside the statue of the weeping woman that lay broken and half-buried on the ground, she turned her face up to the sky and closed her eyes. She could feel the snow on her lashes, taste it on her lips. It was the taste of Winterfell. The taste of innocence. The taste of dreams.