Over the years, more than one reviewer has described my fantasy series, 'A Song of Ice and Fire', as historical fiction about history that never happened, flavoured with a dash of sorcery and spiced with dragons. I take that as a compliment.
When I grew up we had gym at school, two or three dance classes after school, ice skating lessons, and all sorts of sports at our finger tips. We weren't glued to computers because they didn't exist, so being active was all we knew.
My dad had this thing - everyone in Canada wants to play hockey; that's all they want to do. So when I was a kid, whenever we skated my dad would not let us on the ice without hockey sticks, because of this insane fear we would become figure skaters!
Music is fun, but I'm an ice skater. I may sing songs and do shows, make movies and other things... that's all well and good and I enjoy it, and I would never trade any of those for anything. But figure skating is who I am.
I wore No. 19 because of Bryan Trottier. I liked the overall aspect of his game. I liked the way he conducted himself on the ice. He was a quiet guy. He played really hard; just a good all-around, prototypical center man who could do everything.
I usually just write down what I'm doing and how I felt. How I felt if I'm skating fast, compared to if I'm skating slow or if I'm tired. I can always go back and look as a reference and see what I was doing. It's pretty much my life on ice.
The centuries last passed have also given the taste important extension; the discovery of sugar, and its different preparations, of alcoholic liquors, of wine, ices, vanilla, tea and coffee, have given us flavors hitherto unknown.
For the next approximately three years, I have got Nathan to take care of. I know that once he graduates from high school, he will be off doing whatever it is he is going to be doing - probably playing ice hockey.
Poetry is a rich, full-bodied whistle, cracked ice crunching in pails, the night that numbs the leaf, the duel of two nightingales, the sweet pea that has run wild, Creation's tears in shoulder blades.
I flipped through a book on harp seals in the late 1970s and saw images of them swimming in emerald green pools of water surrounded by huge sheets of ice. Right then I was hooked, and I knew this was a story I wanted to do.
Mistakes can be like ice. If we resist them, we may keep on slipping into a posture of defeat. If we include mistakes in our definition of performance, we are likely to glide through them and appreciate the beauty of the longer run.
Ice and I just live our own lives. I have to answer to him, and he has to answer to me, and that's it. We don't care about the outside world, and even though it can be harsh out there, we just have to deal with it.
I give a speech to the black freshmen at Harvard each year, and I say, 'You can like Mozart and ice hockey...' - and then I used to say 'golf,' but Tiger took over golf! - 'and Picasso and still be as black as the ace of spades.'
He ran his hand up and down his left achilles tendon. Very tender; better pay attention to it and back off if it gets any worse. Maybe ice it. The old Injury Evasion Fandango. Did it ever end?
By the mid-17th century, telescopes had improved enough to make visible the seasonally growing and shrinking polar ice caps on Mars, and features such as Syrtis Major, a dark patch thought to be a shallow sea.
November comes And November goes, With the last red berries And the first white snows. With night coming early, And dawn coming late, And ice in the bucket And frost by the gate. The fires burn And the kettles sing, And earth sinks to rest Until next...
Tipping points are so dangerous because if you pass them, the climate is out of humanity's control: if an ice sheet disintegrates and starts to slide into the ocean there's nothing we can do about that.
Anna: [knocking on the doors of Elsa's ice palace] It opened. That's a first. Oh, you should probably wait out here. Kristoff: What? Anna: Last time I introduced her to a guy, she froze everything.
[Mr. Skinner has tripped and landed with his chin impaled on a miniature church spire at the model village] Simon Skinner: Ow! Thish really hurtsh... I'm gonna need shome ice-creeeem.
Sing: I realized then that good guys never win. I want to be bad. I want to be the killer! Sing's Sidekick: [looks up] Ice cream! [leaves] Sing: Where? [follows]
Olive: Can I get the, uh, waffles? And, um, what does "a la mode-y" mean? Diner Waitress: Oh that means it comes with ice cream! Olive: Ok. A la mode-y then.
