“Jon could not find it in him to pray to any gods, old or new. If they were real, he thought, they were as cruel and implacable as winter.” — George R.R. Martin Copy Share Image
The trees down the boulevard stand naked in thought, Their abundant summery wordage silenced, caught In the grim undertow; naked the trees confront Implacable winter's long, cross-questioning brunt. — D. H. Lawrence Copy Share Image
