“Hodor," said Hodor.”

“Hodor!”

“When you smell our candles burning, what does it make you think of, my child?"Winterfell, she might have said. I smell snow and smoke and pine needles. I smell the stables. I smell Hodor laughing, and Jon and Robb battling in the yard, and Sansa singing about some stupid lady fair. I smell the crypts where the stone kings sit. I smell hot bread baking. I smell the godswood. I smell my wolf. I smell her fur, almost as if she were still beside me. "I don't smell anything," she said.”

“He said.” Jojen frowned. “This . . . Coldhands?”“That wasn’t his true name,” said Gilly, rocking. “We only called him that, Sam and me. His hands were cold as ice, but he saved us from the dead men, him and his ravens, and he brought us here on his elk.”“His elk?” said Bran, wonderstruck.“His elk?” said Meera, startled.“His ravens?” said Jojen.“Hodor?” said Hodor.“Was he green?” Bran wanted to know. “Did he have antlers?”The fat man was confused. “The elk?”“Coldhands,” said Bran impatiently. “The green men ride on elks, Old Nan used to say. Sometimes they have antlers too.”

“She has the blood of a wolf," said Joffrey. "And you have the wits of a goose," said Tyrion.”

“Her father said there was no shame in being afraid, only in showing your fear. "All men live with fear," he said.”

“That man said he’d take your head too.”“Well, as to that,” Yoren said, “if he can get it off my shoulders, he’s welcome to it.”