[Sansa looks away, the blush still staining her cheeks. She knows that marriages aren't meant to have love in them, at this point, but she wants what her parents had. She wants to be loved.]

No marriage is made of love, I think. I don't know why my parents were so lucky. Is it so terrible to want someone to kiss me, to speak kindly to me, to cherish me? That is all I ask. He doesn't have to be handsome. He just has to be kind.