“No,” said Bran. “I haven’t. And if I have it doesn’t matter. Sometimes Old Nan would tell the same story she’d told before, but we never minded, if it was a good story. Old stories are like old friends, she used to say. You have to visit them from time to time.”

“Sometimes Old Nan would tell the same story she'd told before, but we bever mindedn if it was a good story. Old stories are like old friends, she use to saym you have to visit them from time to time.”

“Old stories are like old friends, she used to say. You have to visit them from time to time.”

“Remember Old Nan's stories, Bran. Remember the way she told them, the sound of her voice. So long as you do that, part of her will always be alive in you.”

“It's and old, old story: I had a friend and we shared everything, and then she died and so we shared that, too.”

“This is our story to tell. You’d think for all the reading I do, I would have thought about this before, but I haven’t. I’ve never once thought about the interpretative, the story telling aspect of life, of my life. I always felt like I was in a story, yes, but not like I was the author of it, or like I had any say in its telling whatsoever.”