“He lies down next to me.He says, 'You know - you have a face to die for/''Well, don't die,' I say, "we just met.”

“The smell of it. The feel of it." He rubbed one hand up and down the stained sheath of his sword, making a faint swishing sound. "War is honest. There's no lying to it. You don't have to say sorry here. Don't have to hide. You cannot. If you die? So what? You die among friends. Among worthy foes. You die looking the Great Leveller in the eye. If you live? Well, lad that's living, isn't it? A man isn't truly alive until he's facing death." Whirrun stamped his foot into the sod. "I love war!”

“When you and I met, the meeting was over very shortly, it was nothing. Now it is growing something as we remember it, what will it be when I remember it as I lie down to die, what it makes in me all my days till then - that is the real meeting. The other is only the beginning of it. You say you have poets in your world. Do they not teach you this?”

“She says that on the day you stop believing in love you may as will lie down and die. I think she may be right.”

“That’s the spirit. Now the next time you say it, say it without looking like your puppy just died.”

“For people like me, the face just says that we die alone.”