The storms come and go, the waves crash overhead, the big fish eat the little fish, and I keep on paddling. (Varys) - George R. R. Martin

Orell had been slain by the turncloak crow Jon Snow, and his hate for his killer had been so strong that Varamyr found himself hating the beastling boy as well. He had known what Snow was the moment he saw that great white direwolf stalking silent at his side. One skinchanger can always sense another. Mance should have let me take the direwolf. There would be a second life worthy of a king. He could have done it, he did not doubt. The gift was strong in Snow, but the youth was untaught, still fighting his nature when he should have gloried in it.

We are as the gods made us. Strong and weak, good and bad, cruel and kind, heroic and selfish. Know that if you would rule over the kingdom of men.

His lips were as soft and red as the worms you found after a rain, and his eyes were vain and cruel. “I hate you,” she whispered.