The things we love destroy us every time, lad. Remember that.

I crossed a thousand leagues to come to you, and lost the best part of me along the way. Don't tell me to leave.

I take no joy in mead nor meat, and song and laughter have become suspicious strangers to me. I am a creature of grief and dust and bitter longings. There is an empty place within me where my heart was once.

How can you still count yourself a knight, when you have forsaken every vow you ever swore?" Jaime reached for the flagon to refill his cup. "So many vows...they make you swear and swear. Defend the king. Obey the king. Keep his secrets. Do his bidding. Your life for his. But obey your father. Love your sister. Protect the innocent. Defend the weak. Respect the gods. Obey the laws. It's too much. No matter what you do, you're forsaking one vow or the other.

I know I want you," he heard himself say, all his vows and his honor all forgotten. She stood before him naked as her name day, and he was as hard as the rock around them. He had been in her half a hundred times by now, but always beneath furs, with others all around them. He had never seeen how beautiful she was. Her legs were skinny and well muscled, the hair at the juncture of her thighs a brighter red than that on her head. Does that make it even luckier? He pulled her close. "I love the smell of you," he said. "I love your red hair. I love your mouth, and the way you kiss me. I love your smile. I love your teats." He kissed them, one and then the other. "I love your skinny legs, and what's between them." He knelt to kiss her there, lightly on her mound at first, but Ygritte moved her legs apart a little, and he saw the pink inside and kissed that as well, and tasted her. She gave a little gasp. "If you love me all so much, why are you still dressed?" she whispered. "You know nothing, Jon Snow. Noth---oh. Oh. OHHH."Afterward, she was almost shy, or as shy as Ygritte ever got. "The thing you did," she said, when they lay together on their piled clothes. "With your...mouth." She hesistated. "Is that...is it what lordss do to their ladies, down in the south?""I don't think so." No one had ever told Jon just what lords did with their ladies. "I only...wanted to kiss you there, that's all. You seemed to like it.""Aye. I...I liked it some. No one taught you such?""There's been no one," he confessed. "Only you.

Death is so terribly final, while life is full of possibilities.

A craven can be as brave as any man, when there is nothing to fear. And we all do our duty, when there is no cost to it. How easy it seems then, to walk the path of honor. Yet soon or late in every man's life comes a day when it is not easy, a day when he must choose. (Maester Aemon)

Of all the bright cruel lies they tell you, the cruelest is the one called love.

Every man should lose a battle in his youth, so he does not lose a war when he is old.

Men's lives have meaning, not their deaths.

We all need to be mocked from time to time, lest we take ourselves too seriously.

You are your mother's trueborn son of Lannister.""Am I?" the dwarf replied, sardonic. "Do tell my lord father. My mother died birthing me, and he's never been sure.""I don't even know who my mother was," Jon said. "Some woman, no doubt. Most of them are." He favored Jon with a rueful grin. "Remember this, boy. All dwarfs may be bastards, yet not all bastards need be dwarfs."And with that he turned and sauntered back into the feast, whistling a tune. When he opened the door, the light from within threw his shadow clear across the yard, and for just a moment Tyrion Lannister stood tall as a king.

If you need help bark like a dog." - Gendry. "That's stupid. If I need help I'll shout help." - Arya

...How would you like to die, Tyrion son of Tywin?""In my own bed, with a belly full of wine and a maiden's mouth around my cock, at the age of eighty," he replied.

Noseless and Handless, the Lannister Boys.

Tyrion let the eunuch help him mount. "Lord Varys," he said from the saddle, "sometimes I feel as though you are the best friend I have in King's Landing and sometimes I feel you are my worst enemy." "How odd. I think quite the same of you.

Nothing' isn't better or worse than anything. Nothing is just... nothing." Arya Stark

Most men would rather deny a hard truth than face it.

People often claim to hunger for truth, but seldom like the taste when it's served up.

It was queer how sometimes a child's innocent eyes can see things that grown men are blind to.

He drew the dagger and laid it on the table between them; a length of dragonbone and Valyrian steel, as sharp as the difference between right and wrong, between true and false, between life and death.

Half-truths are worth more than outright lies.

Fat men take a cushion with them wherever they go.

The hard truths are the ones to hold tight.-The Old Bear, A Game of Thrones

It is one thing to be clever and another to be wise.

Is it so far from madness to wisdom?" - Daenerys Targaryen

Laughter is poison to fear.

You ought to be blowing me kisses, wench.

Dream anything hard enough, and it can be yours.

Jon Snow, is this a proper castle now? Not just a tower?”“It is.” Jon took her hand.“Good,” she whispered. “I wanted t’ see one proper castle, before … before I …”“You’ll see hundred castles. The battle’s done. Maester Aemon will see to you. You’re kissed by fire, remember? Lucky. It will take more than an arrow to kill you. Aemon will draw it out and patch you up, and we’ll get milk of the poppy for the pain.”She just smiled at that. “D’you remember that cave? We should have stayed in that cave. I told you so.”“We’ll go back to the cave,” he said.” You’re not going to die, Ygritte. You’re not.”“Oh.” Ygritte cupped his cheek with her hand. “You know nothing, Jon Snow,” she sighed, dying.

Was there ever a war where only one side bled?

She had no time for sleep, with the weight of the world upon her shoulders. And she feared to dream. Sleep is a little death, dreams the whisperings of the Other, who would drag us all into his eternal night.

Why won't they let me be? I just need to rest, that's all, to rest and sleep some, and maybe die a little.

The man who passes the sentence should swing the sword.

This was how an enemy should be dealt with: with a dagger, not a declaration.

I prefer my history dead. Dead history is writ in ink, the living sort in blood.""Do you want to die old and craven in your bed?""How else? Though not till I'm done reading.

What are you doing to me?” he asked the crow, tearful. Teaching you how to fly. “I can’t fly!” You’re flying right now. “I’m falling!” Every flight begins with a fall, the crow said.

There are worse ways to die than warm and drunk.

I think there are two types of writers, the architects and the gardeners. The architects plan everything ahead of time, like an architect building a house. They know how many rooms are going to be in the house, what kind of roof they're going to have, where the wires are going to run, what kind of plumbing there's going to be. They have the whole thing designed and blueprinted out before they even nail the first board up. The gardeners dig a hole, drop in a seed and water it. They kind of know what seed it is, they know if planted a fantasy seed or mystery seed or whatever. But as the plant comes up and they water it, they don't know how many branches it's going to have, they find out as it grows. And I'm much more a gardener than an architect.

Some writers enjoy writing, I am told. Not me. I enjoy having written.

A bruise is a lesson... and each lesson makes us better.

The glass candle is meant to represent truth and learning, rare and beautiful and fragile things. It is made in the shape of a candle to remind us that a maester must cast light wherever he serve, and it is a sharp to remind us that knowledge can be dangerous.

They hate you because you act like you're better than they are...." "[they are] Four that you humiliated in the yard. Four who are probably afraid of you. I’ve watched you fight. It’s not training with you. Put a good edge on your sword, and they’d be dead meat; you know it, I know it, they know it. You leave them nothing. You shame them. Does that make you proud?

Men live their lives trapped in an eternal present, between the mists of memory and the sea of shadow that is all we know of the days to come.

Be careful you don't cut yourself. The edges are sharp enough to shave with.''Girls don't shave', Arya said.'Maybe they should. Have you ever seen the septa's legs?

Small men oft feel a need to prove their courage with unseemly boasts," he declared. "I doubt if he could kill a duck."Tyrion shrugged. "Fetch the duck.

We were talking about the prince,' Sansa said, her voice soft as a kiss.Arya knew which prince she meant: Joffrey, of course. The tall, handsome one. Sansa got to sit with him at the feast. Arya had to sit with the little fat one. Naturally.

We'll never find that one, and I'll be blamed," announced Edd Tollett, the dour grey-haired squire everyone called Dolorous Edd. "Nothing ever goes missing that they don't look at me, ever since that time I lost my horse. As if that could be helped. He was white and it was snowing, what did they expected

Shaga: How would you like to die, little man?Tyrion: In my bed, at the age of eighty with a belly full of wine and a woman's mouth around my cock.

The world the Citadel is building has no place in it for sorcery or prophecy or glass candles, much less for dragons.

I have lived a thousand lives and I’ve loved a thousand loves. I’ve walked on distant worlds and seen the end of time. Because I read.

I have a realistic grasp of my own strengths and weaknesses. My mind is my weapon. My brother has his sword, King Robert has his warhammer, and I have my mind… and a mind needs books as a sword needs a whetstone, if it is to keep its edge. That’s why I read so much, Jon Snow.

He'll be down with the books. My old septon used to say books are dead men talking. Dead men should keep quiet is what I say. No one wants to hear a dead man's yabber.

Before he had lost his sight, the maester had loved books as much as Samwell Tarly did. He understood the way that you could sometimes fall right into them, as if each page was a hole into another world.

Fantasy is silver and scarlet, indigo and azure, obsidian veined with gold and lapis lazuli. Reality is plywood and plastic, done up in mud brown and olive drab. Fantasy tastes of habaneros and honey, cinnamon and cloves, rare red meat and wines as sweet as summer. Reality is beans and tofu, and ashes at the end.

I sailed up to the cold stars but they were cold no longer, and I grew bigger and bigger until I was the stars and they were me, and I was Union, and for a single solitary glittering instant I was the universe.

Bran thought about it. 'Can a man still be brave if he's afraid?''That is the only time a man can be brave,' his father told him.

Fear cuts deeper than swords.

Oh, my sweet summer child," Old Nan said quietly, "what do you know of fear?Fear is for the winter, my little lord, when the snows fall a hundred feetdeep and the ice wind comes howling out of the north. Fear is for the longnight, when the sun hides its face for years at a time, and little childrenare born and live and die all in darkness while the direwolves grow gaunt andhungry, and the white walkers move through the woods

There's no shame in fear, my father told me, what matters is how we face it.

The man who fears losing has already lost.

A cold wind was blowing from the north, and it made the trees rustle like living things.

Robb says the man died bravely, but Jon says he was afraid.""What do you think?" his father asked.Bran thought about it. "can a man still be brave if he's afraid?""That is the only time a man can be brave," his father told him.

His cloak was his crowning glory; sable, thick and black and soft as sin.

And if I'm guilty of having gratuitous sex, then I'm also guilty of having gratuitous violence, and gratuitous feasting, and gratuitous description of clothes, and gratuitous heraldry, because very little of this is necessary to advance the plot. But my philosophy is that plot advancement is not what the experience of reading fiction is about. If all we care about is advancing the plot, why read novels? We can just read Cliffs Notes.A novel for me is an immersive experience where I feel as if I have lived it and that I've tasted the food and experienced the sex and experienced the terror of battle. So I want all of the detail, all of the sensory things—whether it's a good experience, or a bad experience, I want to put the reader through it. To that mind, detail is necessary, showing not telling is necessary, and nothing is gratuitous.

When the snows fall and the white winds blow, the lone wolf dies but the pack survives.

My old grandmother always used to say, Summer friends will melt away like summer snows, but winter friends are friends forever.

Perhaps I cannot make my people good, she told herself, but I should at least try to make them a little less bad.

There is a savage beast in every man, and when you hand that man a sword or spear and send him forth to war, the beast stirs.

War seems like a fine adventure, the greatest most of them will ever know. Then they get a taste of battle. For some, that one taste is enough to break them. Others go on for years, until they lose count of all the battles they have fought in, but even a man who has survived a hundred fights can break in his hundred-and-first. Brothers watch their brothers die, fathers lose their sons, friends see their friends trying to hold their entrails in after they’ve been gutted by an axe. They see the lord who led them there cut down, and some other lord shouts that they are his now, They take the wound, and when that’s still half-healed they take another. There is never enough to eat, their shoes fall to pieces from marching, their clothes are torn and rotting, and half of them are shitting in their breeches from drinking bad water.If they want new boots or a warmer cloak or maybe a rusted iron half helm, they need to take them from a corpse, and before long they are stealing from the living too, from the small folk whose land they’re fighting in, men very like the men they used to be. They slaughter their sheep and steal their chickens, and from there it’s just a short step to carrying off their daughters too. And one day they look around and realize all their friends and kin are gone, that they are fighting beside strangers beneath a banner that they hardly recognize. They don’t know where they are or how to get back home and the lord they’re fighting for does not know their names, yet here he comes, shouting for them to form up, to make a line with their spears and scythes and sharpened hoes, to stand their ground. And the knights come down on them, faceless men clad in all steel, and the iron thunder of their charge seems to fill the world.And the man breaks.

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

On armageddon day,' Sandy said, 'both armies will think they fight for good. And both of them will be wrong.

Armageddon,' Sandy said. 'The final battle. The ultimate confrontation between good and evil. That's what armageddon is supposed to be. Right?'Hobbins lifted a pale white eyebrow, said nothing.'Which side are we?' Sandy demanded. 'Which side are we?''That's one you got to work out yourself, friend. This ain't like in Tolkien, is it?

...Prophecy is like a treacherous woman. She takes your member in her mouth, and you moan with the pleasure of it and think, how sweet, how fine, how good this is... and then her teeth snap shut and your moans turn to screams... Prophecy will bite your prick off everytime,

Gold has its uses, but war is won with iron.

Even in dreams, you could not fall forever.

One voyage to the East and a man could live as rich as a lord until the end of his days. When he'd been younger, Davos had dreamed of making such voyages himself. But the years went dancing by like moths around a flame, and somehow the time had never been quite right.

The ground was so far below him, he could barely make it out through the grey mists that whirled around him, but he could feel how fast he was falling, and he knew what was waiting for him down there. Even in dreams, you could not fall forever. He would wake up in the instant before he hit the ground, he knew. You always woke in the instant before you hit the ground.

Dreams can lie, your Grace.

Sleep is a little death, dreams the whisperings of the other who would drag us all into the eternal light

Dreams turn to dust in light of day.

Every boy dreams of serving in the Kingsguard.

My sister has mistaken me for a mushroom. She keeps me in the dark and feeds me shit.

Go Ahead, call me all the names you want," Sansa said airily. "You won't dare when I'm married to Joffrey. You'll have to bow and call me Your Grace." She shrieked as Arya flung the orange across the table. It caught her in the middle of the forehead with a wet squish and plopped down into her lap."You have juice on your face, Your Grace ," Arya said.

And what lesson can we draw from Volantene history?”“If you want to conquer the world, you best have dragons.

I learned long ago that it is considered rude to vomit on your brother

Well, the drums gave me headaches, the sunlight flashing on my armor cooked me up like harvest day, and those magnificent destriers shit everywhere.

A sword needs a sheath, heh, and a wedding needs a bedding.

No". Tyrion's voice was hoarse. "Sansa is no longer yours to torment. Understand that, monster." Joffrey sneered. "You're the monster, Uncle" "Am I?" Tyrion cocked his head. "Perhaps you should speak more softly to me, then. Monsters are dangerous beasts, and just now kinds seem to be dying like flies.

Wolves and women wed for life.

All men are fools, and all men are knights where women are concerned.

The years pass in their hundreds and their thousands, and what does any man see of life but a few summers, a few winters? We look at mountains and call them eternal, and so they seem... but in the course of time, mountains rise and fall, rivers change their courses, stars fall from the sky, and great cities sink beneath the sea. Even gods die, we think. Everything changes.

She is not truly beautiful but something about her draws the eye.

Still, beauty can mask deadly danger.

Beauty can be treacherous.

Man wants to be the king o’ the rabbits, he best wear a pair o’ floppy ears.

A reader lives a thousand lives before he dies, said Jojen. The man who never reads lives only one.

Do you want to die old and craven in your bed?- How else? Though not till I'm done reading.

History is a wheel, for the nature of man is fundamentally unchanging. What has happened before will perforce happen again.

She should be on a hill somewhere, under a fruit tree, with the sun and clouds above her and the rain to wash her clean.

Torches just blind you. On a clear night like this, the moon and the stars are enough.

One King means peace.

Some old wounds never truly heal, and bleed again at the slightest word.

Hard hands and no sense of humor makes for a bad marriage.

Innocence and experience make for a perfect marriage.

A man who hates music can't be trusted.

They can keep their heaven. When I die, I’d sooner go to Middle Earth.

It all goes back and back," Tyrion thought, "to our mothers and fathers and theirs before them. We are puppets dancing on the strings of those who came before us, and one day our own children will take up our strings and dance in our steads.

Up and down," Meera would sigh sometimes as they walked, "then down and up. Then up and down again. I hate these stupid mountains of yours, Prince Bran.""Yesterday you said you loved them.""Oh, I do. My lord father told me about mountains, but I never saw one till now. I love them more than I can say."Bran made a face at her. "But you just said you hated them.""Why can't it be both?" Meera reached up to pinch his nose."Because they're different," he insisted. "Like night and day, or ice and fire.""If ice can burn," said Jojen in his solemn voice, "then love and hate can mate. Mountain or marsh, it makes no matter. The land is one.""One," his sister agreed, "but over wrinkled.

For men, the answer was always the same and never farther away than the nearest sword. For a woman, a mother, the way was stonier and harder to know.

Most of my kin are bastards," [Tyrion] said with a wry smile, "but you're the first I've had to friend.

A book can be as dangerous as a sword in the right hands

Every blade of grass was carved from emerald, every drip of water turned to diamond.

The day will come when you need them to respect you, even fear you a little. Laughter is poison to fear.

Shall I prick my prick as well?

Look at me!" he would shout as he ran laughing through the halls of Storm's End. "Look at me, I'm a dragon," or "Look at me, I'm a wizard," or "Look at me, look at me, I'm the rain

You may be as different as the sun and the moon, but the same blood flows through both your hearts. You need her, as she needs you...

... a mind needs books as a sword needs a whetstone, if it is to keep its edge.

...grief can derange even the strongest and most disciplined of minds.

We Lannisters do have a certain pride," said Tyrion Lannister.“Pride?” Catelyn snapped. His mocking tone and easy manner made her angry. “Arrogance, some might call it. Arrogance and avarice and lust for power.”“My brother is undoubtedly arrogant,” Tyrion Lannister replied. “My father is the soul of avarice, and my sweet sister Cersei lusts for power with every waking breath. I, however, am innocent as a little lamb. Shall I bleat for you?” He grinned.

She never forgets a slight, real or imagined. She takes caution for cowardice and dissent for defiance. And she is greedy. Greedy for power, for honour, for love.

Power resides where men believe it resides. A very small man can cast a very large shadow.

There is power in a King's blood.

No mortal man could frighten him, no more than the darkness could, nor the bones of his soul, the grey and grisly bones of his soul.

I have some devotional books you can look over. Learn to quote from them. Nothing discourages unwanted questions as much as a flow of pious bleating.(Petyr Baelish to Sansa Stark)

Can a man still be brave if he’s afraid?”“That is the only time a man can be brave,

Harsh justice is still justice.

Only a starving man asks bread from a begger

The gods made our bodies as well as our souls, is it not so? They give us voices, so we might worship them with song. They give us hands, so we might build them temples. And they give us desire, so we might mate and worship them in that way.

There is no shame in loving.

A man grows weary of having no lovers but his fingers.

There was an agelessness about him, a stillness; on Roose Bolton's face, rage and joy looked much the same.

Remember Old Nan's stories, Bran. Remember the way she told them, the sound of her voice. So long as you do that, part of her will always be alive in you.

Children are a battle of a different sort. ... A battle without banners or warhorns but no less fierce.

The hard truths are the ones to hold tight. - Old Bear

They were in a long line, an endless line, and as they burst from the wood there was an instant, the smallest part of a heartbeat, when all Catelyn saw was the moonlight on the point of their lance, as if a thousand willowisps were coming down the ridge, wreathed in silver. Then she blinked, and they were only men, rushing down to kill or die.

Girl or boy, we fight our battles. But the God's let us choose our weapons.

So now you are a woman. Do you have the least idea of what that means?It means that I am now fit to be wedded and bedded (...) and to bear children for the king.

Can you drown in grief? She turned away sharply, angry with her own frailty. She had no time for the luxury of self-pity.

Strength to your arm, then.

He was a pitiful thing. He had always been a pitiful thing. Why had she never seen that before? There was a hollow place inside her where her fear had been.

A great battle is a terrible thing," the old knight said, "but in the midst of blood and carnage, there is sometimes also beauty, beauty that could break your heart.

Then a begging brother in a tattered brown robe said a blessing on his sword, and a maid kissed his cheek. 'They are for me,' "Why?" He asked Pate. "What am I to them?" "A knight who remembered his vows," the smith said.

Summer is the time for squabbles. In winter, we must protect one another, keep each other warm, share our strengths.

Free folk don't follow names, or little cloth animals sewn on a tunic," the King-Beyond-the-Wall had told him. "They won't dance for coins, they don't care how your style yourself or what that chain of office means or who your grandsire was. They follow strength. They follow the man.

Day followed day, and night followed night, until Dany knew she could not endure a moment longer. She would kill herself rather than go on, she decided one night... Yet when she slept that night, she dreamt the dragon dream again. Viserys was not in it this time. There was only her and the dragon. Its scales were black as night, wet and slick with blood. Her blood, Dany sensed. Its eyes were pools of molten magma and when it opened its mouth, the flame came roaring out in a hot jet. She could hear it singing to her. She opened her arms to the fire, embraced it, let it swallow her whole, let it cleanse her and temper her and scour her clean. She could feel her flesh sear and blacken and slough away, could feel her blood boil and turn to steam, and yet there was no pain. She felt strong and new and fierce. And the next day, strangely, she did not seem to hurt quite as much.

The living have no place at the feasts of the dead.

Maris sighed, and put a gentle hand on his arm. "We'll do what we must, Coll. We have no choice." He looked up at her now, looking to her again as the child to the mother; although he knew now that she was as helpless as he, still he hoped. "Why don't we have a choice? I don't understand."Maris sighed. "It's law, Coll. We don't go against tradition here, you know that. We all have duties put upon us. If we had a choice I would keep the wings, I would be a flyer. And you could be a singer. We'd both be proud, and know we were good at what we did. Life will be hard as a land-bound. I want the wings so much. I've had them, and it doesn't seem right that they should be taken from me, butmaybe—maybe the tightness in it is something I just don't see. People wiser than we decided that thingsshould be the way they are, and maybe, maybe I'm just being a child about it, wanting everything my own way.

Words are wind.

Words are like arrows, Arianne. Once loosed, you cannot call them back.

Some words are wind, ser. Some are treason.

Words are wind, and the wind from Manderly's mouth means no more than the wind escaping his bottom.

Words are not swords.

But words in a book were one thing. The true test came in battle.

I don’t know what message to send to Bran. Help him Tyrion.”“What help could I give him? I am no maester, to ease his pain. I have no spell to give him back his legs.”“You gave me help when I needed it” Jon Snow said.“I gave you nothing,” Tyrion said. “Words.”“Then give your words to Bran too.

She went to the window seat and sat there, sniffling, hating them all, and herself most of all. It was all her fault, everything bad that had happened.

He cries behind his wall, I think, and no one knows, not even he. And no one will ever know, and in the end he’ll always be alone in smiling pain.

Let his sword break and his shield shatter, Sansa thought coldly as she shoved out through the doors, let his courage fail him and every man desert him.

It was a hollow victory they gave me. A crown...it was the girl I prayed them for. Your sister, safe... and mine again as she was meant to be. I ask you, Ned, what good is it to wear a crown?

These woods are as empty as you think, he had said. You cannot know what the light might summon from the darkness.

The lord of light made the sun and moon and stars to light our day, and gave us fire to keep the night at bay.

The light that brings the dawn.

Once she had loved Prince Joffrey with all her heart, and admired and trusted her his mother, the queen. They had repaid that love and trust with her father's head. Sansa would never make that mistake again.

The only wolves we got to fear are the ones wear manskin,

Sometimes," Catelyn said slowly, "the best thing you can do is nothing. When I first came to Winterfell, I was hurt whenever Ned went to the godwood to sit beneath his heart tree. Part of his soul was in that tree, I know, a part I would never share. Yet, without that part, I soon realized, he would not have been Ned. Jeyne, child, you have wed the north, as I did ... and in the north, the winters will come." She tried to smile."Be patient. Be understanding. He loves you and he needs you, and he will come back to you soon enough. This very night, perhaps. Be there when he does. That is all I can tell you.

I have become a sour woman. I take no joy in meat nor mead, and song and laughter have become suspicious strangers to me. I am a creature of grief and dust and bitter longings. There is an empty place within me where my heart was once.

Some woman, no doubt. Most of them are." He favored Jon with a rueful grin. "Remember this, boy. All dwarfs are bastards, yet not all bastards need be dwarfs." And with that he turned and sauntered back into the feast, whistling a tune. When he opened the door, the light from within threw his shadow clear across the yard, and for just a moment Tyrion Lannister stood tall as a king.

Some men are like swords, made for fighting. Hang them and they go to rust.

old stories are like old friends (...) you have to visit them from time to time.

Our enemies leave our bodies for the crows and the wolves. Our friends bury us in secret graves.

All men are fools, if truth be told, but the ones in motley are more amusing than ones with crowns.

Men come and go. They lie, or die, or leave you. A mountain is not a man, though, and a stone is a mountain's daughter. I trust myself, and I trust my mules. I won't fall.

The gods are blind and men see only wha they wish.

The gods are blind and men see only what they wish.

Beware men with cold hearts and blue lips.

Men come and go. They lie, or die, or leave you.

Your brother was a terrible traitor, I know, but if we start killing men at weddings they’ll be even more frightened of marriage than they are presently.

The gods are blind. And men see only what they wish.

Misery loves company, as someone unbearably trite said once.

Most have been forgotten. Most deserve to be forgotten. The heroes will always be remembered. The best. The best and the worst. And a few who were a bit of both.

Can I dwell on what I scarce remember? I held a castle on the Marches once, and there was a woman I was pledged to marry, but I could not find that castle today, nor tell you the color of that woman's hair. Who knighted me, old friend? What were my favorite foods? It all fades. Sometimes I think I was born on the bloody grass in that grove of ash, with the taste of fire in my mouth and a hole in my chest. Are you my mother, Thoros?

The pale pink light of dawn sparkled on branch and leaf and stone. Every blade of grass was carved from emerald, every drip of water turned to diamond. Flowers and mushrooms alike wore coats of glass. Even the mud puddles had a bright brown sheen. Through the shimmering greenery, the black tents of his brothers were encased in a fine glaze of ice. So there is magic beyond the Wall after all.

Oh yes, it hurts at times to be alone among the stars. But it hurts a lot more to be alone at a party. A lot more.

Time is different for a tree than for a man. Sun and soil and water, these are the things a weirwood understands, not days and years and centuries. For men, time is a river. We are trapped in its flow, hurtling from past to present, always in the same direction. The lives of trees are different. They root and grow and die in one place, and that river does not move them. The oak is the acorn, the acorn is the oak.

It was pleasant to think that men still sang, even in the midst of butchery and famine.

The strongest trees are rooted in the dark places of the earth. Darkness will be your cloak, your shield, your mother's milk. Darkness will make you strong.

All the world knew that a maester forged his silver link when he learned the art of healing—but the world preferred to forget that men who knew how to heal also knew how to kill.

Now, how do you suppose this queen will react when you turn up with your begging bowl in hand and say, 'Good morrow to you, Auntie. I am your nephew, Aegon, returned from the dead. I've been hiding on a poleboat all my life, but now I've washed the blue dye from my hair and I'd like a dragon, please...and oh, did I mention, my claim to the Iron Throne is stronger than your own?

I only need half my wits to be a match for you.

…When you’ve know me longer, you’ll learn that I mean everything I say.”“Even the lies?”“Especially the lies. Lord Petyr…

Are you certain they never cut your member off?" Tormund gave a shrug, as if to say he would never understand such madness. "Well, you are a free man now, but if you will have the girl, best find yourself a she-bear. If a man does not use his member it grows smaller and smaller, until one day he wants to piss and cannot find it.

I am the sword in the darkness.

And it’s great to have all these readers and fans who, for the most part, are very nice people, saying they love the books and the TV show. But there are so many of them and it just doesn’t end. Oh, and ‘selfies’! If I could clap my hands and burn out every camera phone in the world, I swear I’d do it!

If the novels are still being read in 50 years, no one is ever going to say: ‘What’s great about that sixth book is that he met his deadline!’ It will be about how the whole thing stands up.

I often said that writers are of two types.There is the architect, which is one type. The architect, as if designing a building, lays out the entire novel at a time. He knows how many rooms there will be or what a roof will be made of or how high it will be, or where the plumbing will run and where the electrical outlets will be in its room. All that before he drives the first nail. Everything is there in the blueprint.And then there's the gardener who digs the hole in the ground, puts in the seed and waters it with his blood and sees what comes up. The gardener knows certain things. He's not completely ignorant. He knows whether he planted an oak tree, or corn, or a cauliflower. He has some idea of the shape but a lot of it depends on the wind and the weather and how much blood he gives it and so forth.No one is purely an architect or a gardener in terms of a writer, but many writers tend to one side or the other. I'm very much more a gardener.

A sweet fate oft hides a sinner's heart.

A son for a son, heh. But that's a grandson...and he never was much use." --Walder Frey

Much that may seem evil can be good.

You don't just have people who wake up in the morning and say, "What evil things can I do today, because I'm Mr. Evil?" People do things for what they think are justified reasons. Everybody is the hero of their own story, and you have to keep that in mind. If you read a lot of history, as I do, even the worst and most monstrous people thought they were the good guys. We're all very tangled knots.

The wolf blood, Arya remembered now. I'll be as strong as Robb, I said I would. She took a deep breath, then lifted the broomstick in both hands and brought down across her knee. It broke with a loud crack, and she threw the pieces aside. 'I am a direwolf, and done with the wooden teeth.

He wished he could relieve himself of his doubts and guilts half as easily.

Kill the boy and let the man be born.

We are one. Man, horse, lance, we are one beast of blood and wood and iron.

A good act does not wash out the bad, nor a bad act the good. Each should have its own reward.

All my memories are poisoned.

Tell Khan Drogo that he has given me the wind.

Yet even so, Jon Snow was not sorry he had come. There were wonders here as well. He had seen sunlight flashing on icy thin waterfalls as they plunged over the lips of sheer stone cliffs, and a mountain meadow full of autumn wildflowers, blue coldsnaps and bright scarlet frostfires and stands of piper's grass in russet and gold. He had peered down ravines so deep and black they seemed certain to end in some hell, and he had ridden his garron over a wind-eaten bridge of natural stone with nothing but sky to either side. Eagles nested in the heights and came down to hunt the valleys, circling effortlessly on great blue-grey wings that seemed almost part of the sky.

Ten years from now, no one is going to care how quickly the books came out. The only thing that will matter, the only thing anyone will remember, is how good they were. That's my main concern, and always will be.

You are an honest and honorable man, Lord Eddard. Ofttimes I forget that. I have met so few of them in my life.” He glanced around the cell. “When I see what honesty and honor have won you, I understand why.

There is entirely too much tut-tutting in this realm, if you ask me. All these kings would do a deal better if they put down their swords and listened to their mothers.

A harp can be a dangerous as a sword, in the right hands.

The best lies are seasoned with a bit of truth,

The truth will set us free. But freedom is cold and empty and frightening, and lies can often be warm and beautiful.

A crisp roast chicken would set the world aright.

I thank you for calling them off, young ser. I promise you, they would have found me indigestible.

Silence is a prince's friend.

Never forget what you are, for surely the world will not. Make it your strength. Then it can never be your weakness. Armour yourself in it, and it will never be used to hurt you.

Everyone who isn't us is an enemy." - Cersei

We are only human, and the Gods have fashioned us for love. This is our greatest glory and our greatest tragedy.

An ugly smile. An ugly soul.

I believe in steel swords, gold coins, and man's wits. (...) And I believe there once were dragons. I've seen their skulls, after all.

The man who passes the sentence should swing the sword. If you would take a man's life, you owe it to him to look into his eyes and hear his final words. And if you cannot bear to do that, then perhaps the man does not deserve to die.

...the man who passes the sentence should swing the sword.""...a ruler who hides behind paid executioners soon forgets what death is.

Lem glowered. "Your lion friends ride into some village, take all the food and every coin they find, and call it foraging. the wolves as well, so why not us? no one robbed you, dog. You just been good and foraged.

It was a cruel fate, Yet not so cruel as Mago's will be. I promise you that, by the old gods and the new, by the lamb god and the horse god and every god that lives. I swear by the Mother of Mountains and the Womb of the World. Before I am done with them, Mago and Ko Jhaqo will plead for the mercy they showed Eroeh.

So do not waste my time. It is the most precious thing I have, time. It is the most precious thing any of us have.

Is there any creature on earth as unfortunate as an ugly woman? (wonders Lady Catelyn Stark)

A shy smile, strong arms, clever fingers, and two sure swords. What more could any woman want?

A man can own a woman, and a man can own a knife, but no man can own both,

If every woman had a direwolf, men would be much sweeter.

A book can be as dangerous as a sword in the right hands, said Haldon.

Then you do not belong here. Death holds no sweetness in this house. We are not warriors, nor soldiers, nor swaggering bravos puffed up with pride. We do not kill to serve some lord, to fatten our purses, to stroke our vanity. We never give the gift to please ourselves. Nor do we choose the ones we kill. We are but servants of the God of Many Faces.""Valar dohaeris." All men must serve."You know the words, but you are too proud to serve. A servant must be humble and obedient.""I obey. I can be humbler than anyone."That made him chuckle. "You will be the very goddess of humility, I am sure. But can you pay the price?""What price?""The price is you. The price is all you have and all you ever hope to have. We took your eyes and gave them back. Next we will take your ears, and you will walk in silence. You will give us your legs and crawl. You will be no one's daughter, no one's wife, no one's mother. Your name will be a lie, and the very face you wear will not be your own.

There are gods and there are true knights too. All the stories can't be lies.

Most of the stories you hear about dragons are fodder for fools.

No,” said Bran. “I haven’t. And if I have it doesn’t matter. Sometimes Old Nan would tell the same story she’d told before, but we never minded, if it was a good story. Old stories are like old friends, she used to say. You have to visit them from time to time.

The day my father came to claim me, my mother did not wish for me to go. ‘She is a girl,' she said, ‘and I do not think that she is yours. I had a thousand other men.' He tossed his spear at my feet and gave my mother the back of his hand across the face, so she began to weep. ‘Girl or boy, we fight our battles,' he said, ‘but the gods let us choose our weapons.' He pointed to the spear, then to my mother's tears, and I picked up the spear.

Make no choice, and you have chosen. Failure to decide, because you lack the right, is itself a decision, First Councilor. In abstaining, you vote.

You wear your honor like a suit of armor... You think it keeps you safe, but all it does is weigh you down and make it hard for you to move.

A hedge knight must hold tight to his pride. Without it, he was no more than a sellsword

Pride ill becomes a beggar, ser.

I have more concern for my nephew's welfare than for Lannister pride.

It's not a career for anyone who needs or values security. It's a career for gamblers. Every time you write a book you roll the dice again.

He is a sweet boy, quick to laugh, easy to love.

Summer will end soon enough, and childhood as well.

She tried so hard to be brave, to be fierce as a wolverine and all, but sometimes she felt like she was just a little girl after all.

We're children. We're supposed to be childish.

No wounded man shall sound me and live.

No one has ever died of restlessness, but rashness is another matter. We've planted seeds, let them grow.

You can write the most detailed, vivid description of an ax entering a skull, and nobody will say a word in protest. But if you write a similarly detailed description of a penis entering a vagina, you get letters from people saying they'll never read you again. What the hell? Penises entering vaginas bring a lot more joy into the world than axes entering skulls.

I can describe an axe entering a human skull in great explicit detail and no one will blink twice at it. I provide a similar description, just as detailed, of a penis entering a vagina, and I get letters about it and people swearing off. To my mind this is kind of frustrating, it’s madness. Ultimately, in the history of [the] world, penises entering vaginas have given a lot of people a lot of pleasure; axes entering skulls, well, not so much.

My smile is my servant, he should come at my command.

Why would the stars want to look down on such as me?

My own heroes are the dreamers, those men and women who tried to make the world a better place than when they found it, whether in small ways or great ones. Some succeeded, some failed, most had mixed results... but it is the effort that's heroic, as I see it. Win or lose, I admire those who fight the good fight.

A sworn sworn owes his liege our service and obedience, but this is madness.

She could not bear to look at him just now. If she did, she might well slap him again. Or cry. Or kiss him. And never know which was right and which was wrong and which was madness.

His wits have gone dark as his eyes

Only the innocent know the peace of untroubled sleep. Confess sins, and you will sleep like a newborn babe.

When a dog goes bad, the fault lies with his master.

I value my privacy, and if sometimes my actions seem strange or arbitrary or capricious, I do not want them challenged.

Can a man still be brave if he's afraid? That's the only tine a man can be brave.

Strike hard and true, crow, or I'll come back and haunt you.

Even brave men blind themselves sometimes, when they are afraid to see.

It is said with truth that every building is constructed stone by stone, and the same may be said of knowledge, extracted and compiled by many learned men, each of whom builds upon the works of those who proceeded him.

She might have wept then, had not the sky begun to do it for her.

His mouth would have given despair to even the drollest of fools; it was a mouth made for frowns and scowls and sharply worded commands, all thin pale lips and clenched muscles, a mouth that had forgotten how to smile and had never known how to laugh

Every child knows its mother, Dany thought. When the seas go dry and the mountains blow in the wind like leaves.

My mother said my father had a drop of dragon blood.”“Two drops. That, or a cock six feet long.

Catelyn wanted to run to him, to kiss his sweet brow, to wrap him in her arms so tightly that he would never come to harm....

all men carry murder in their hearts, yet even so, the poisoner is beneath contempt.

That's one way we differ, Jaime and I. He's taller as well, you may have noticed.

worms have crawled up your nose and eaten your wits.

His long wait is almost done. I am sending Balon Swann to Sunspear, to deliver him the head of Gregor Clegane.” Ser Balon would have another task as well, but that part was best left unsaid.“Ah.” Ser Harys Swyft fumbled at his funny little beard with thumb and forefinger. “He is dead then? Ser Gregor?”“I would think so, my lord,” Aurane Waters said dryly. “I am told that removing the head from the body is often mortal.

Secrets are worth more than silver and sapphires.

The grave casts long shadows, Iron Lord," Mirri said. "Long and dark, and in the end no light can hold them back.

Terrible times breed terrible things, my lord.

Sometimes, the best thing you can do is nothing. Catelyn

In the closeness of the passage, the queen could smell the other woman's perfume, a musky scent that spoke of moss and earth and wildflowers. Under it, she smelled ambition.

The things I do for love.

Perhaps you should speak more softly to me, then. Monsters are dangerous beasts, and just now kings seem to be dying like flies.

I was very sorry to hear about your losses. Your brother was a terrible traitor, I know, but if we start killing men at weddings they'll be more frightened of marriage than they are presently. (Olenna Tyrell to Sansa Stark

I will hurt you for this. I don't know how yet, but give me time. A day will come when you think yourself safe and happy, and suddenly your joy will turn to ashes in your mouth, and you'll know the debt is paid.

Flies are the dead man's revenge.

It's death and destruction I want to bring down upon House Lannister, not scorn. Jon said.

Death, there will be death, aye. Your lordship lost a son at the Red Wedding. I lost four upon the Blackwater. And why? Because the Lannisters stole the throne. Go to King’s Landing and look on Tommen with your own eyes, if you doubt me. A blind man could see it. What does Stannis offer you? Vengeance. Vengeance for my sons and yours, for your husbands and your fathers and your brothers. Vengeance for your murdered lord, your murdered king, your butchered princes. Vengeance!

Why is it that when one man builds a wall, the next man immediately needs to know what's on the other side?

Curiosity is my great vice. I fear you have seen through to the heart of me, and now seek to exploit my weakness

He who hurries through life hurries to his grave.

I swear to you, sitting a throne is a thousand times harder than winning one.

All these kings would do a deal better if they would put down their swords and listen to their mothers.

They say it grows so cold up here in winter that a man’s laughter freezes in his throat and chokes him to death,” Ned said evenly. “Perhaps that is why the Starks have so little humor.

They’re both bungholes who think they’re too noble to shit,

No man should live longer than his teeth.

There’s always a bear,

Ser Cleos looked like a weasel, fought like a goose, and had the courage of an especially brave ewe.

Never believe anything you hear at a woman’s tit.

A sweet fruit for a sweet fight.

A hound will die for you, but never lie to you.

Hatred does not stir the stone men half so much as hunger.

His eyes were open wounds beneath his heavy brows, a blue as dark as the sea by night.

The little man gave the big one a look. One of his eyes was green, one was black, and both were cool.

A dozen great fires raged under the city walls, where casks of burning pitch had exploded, but the wildfire reduced them to no more than candles in a burning house, their orange and scarlet pennons fluttering insignificantly against the jade holocaust.

Dragons are fire made flesh.

Life is warmth and warmth is fire, and fire is God's and God's alone.

What fire joins none man can put aside,

Any cat may stare into a fire and see red mice play,

The fire that burns against the cold.

Ice can kill as dead as fire.

Surely the Gods did not bring me safe through fire and sea only to kill me with a flux.

Cats never weep, she told herself, no more than wolves. It's just a stupid dream.

Silver’s sweet and gold’s our mother, but once you’re dead they’re worth less than that last shit you take as you lie dying.

Dying is easy, but victory comes hard.

Dying is not dead.

Begging for help never gets you any.

Give me honorable enemies rather than ambitious ones, and I'll sleep more easily by night.

Love is the bane of honor, the death of duty.

Without honor, a knight is no more than a common killer. It is better to die with honor than to live without it.

Even a hedge knight has his honor.

Would you rather die with honor intact or live with it besmirched?

Sellswords put gold before honor.

Our honor means no more than our lives, so long as the realm is safe.

Always keep your foes confused. If they are never certain who you are or what you want, they cannot know what you are like to do next.

Shattered legs may heal in time, but some betrayals fester and poison the soul.

We are only human, and the gods have fashioned us for love. That is our great glory, and our great tragedy.

Three good men dead, to save a hedge knight's foot.

The sword was not the kingdom, he says.

I never understood what Jaime saw in you, apart from his own reflection.

These are the winter's people, he reminded himself. Tears froze upon your cheeks where they come from.

The enemy of my enemy is my friend, men said, but the enemy of my friend is my enemy.

The dog barked and wagged his tail. He was a huge, shaggy creature, ten stone of dog at least, but friendly. 'Who does he belong to?' asked Podrick. 'Why, to himself, and to the Seven. As to his name, he has not told me what it is. I call him Dog.

Slowly the shapes around her took on form. Huge empty eyes stared at her hungrily through the gloom, and dimly she saw the jagged shadows of long teeth. She had lost the count. She closed her eyes and bit her lip and sent the fear away. When she looked again, the monsters would be gone. Would never have been. She pretended that Syrio was beside her in the dark, whispering in her ear. Calm as still water, she told herself. Strong as a bear. Fierce as a wolverine. She opened her eyes again. The monsters were still there, but the fear was gone.

As Daenerys Targaryen rose to her feet, her black hissed, pale smoke venting from its mouth and nostrils. The other two pulled away from her breasts and added their voices to the call, translucent wings unfolding and stirring the air, and for the first time in hundreds of years, the night came alive with the music of dragons.

It’s you and me that matters to me and you.

He has a sellsword's conscience, she realized then. That is to say none at all.

I have never forgotten, and I can't imagine you have, and I've thought of it over the years. It was so good, when it was good, I kept thinking. How could it go wrong?

In the deep sands a man must hoard his water.

When your womb quickens again, and you bear a living child, then he will return, and not before.

Is that gallantry I smell, or just stupidity? The two scents are much alike, as I recall.

Never drink with Dornishmen when the moon is full.

The moon was a crescent, thin and sharp as the blade of a knife.

My first rule of war, Cat-never give the enemy his wish

My lord father used to say a man should never draw his sword unless he means to use it.

May the Father judge him justly.

Jaime gave her [Brienne] a hard smile. "See, wench? We know each other too well.

Arya did not dare [take a bath], even though she smelled as bad as Yoren by now, all sour and stinky. Some of the creatures living in her clothes had come all the way from Flea Bottom with her; it didn’t seem right to drown them.

What sort of gods make rats and plagues and dwarfs?

Why do the Gods make kings and queens if not to protect the ones who can't protect themselves?

Not that I'm complaining. It was better than my old dream, where Harma Dogshead was feeding me to her pigs.""Harma's dead." Jon said."But not the pigs. They look at me the way Slayer used to look at ham. Not to say that the wildlings mean us harm. Aye, we hacked their gods apart and made them burn the pieces, but we gave them onion soup. What's a god compared to a nice bowl of onion soup? I could do with mine myself.

There is sitting and there is sitting. (...) Each one waits for the other to move, but the lion is poised, his tail twitching, while the fawn is frozen by fear, bowels turned to belly. No matter which way he bounds, the lion will have him, and he knows it.

One man on the wall is worth ten beneath it.

I am alive, and drunk on sunlight.

...his voice was like the cracking of ice on a winter lake, and the words were mocking

She liked the sharp salty smell of the air, and the vastness of horizons bounded only by a vault of azure sky above.

It is hard to look a hero when mounted on a pig.

What man wants does not matter.

Petyr 'Littlefinger' Baelish: The realm. Do you know what the realm is? It's the thousand blades of Aegon's enemies, a story we agree to tell each other over and over, until we forget that it's a lie.Lord Varys: But what do we have left, once we abandon the lie? Chaos? A gaping pit waiting to swallow us all.Petyr 'Littlefinger' Baelish: Chaos isn't a pit. Chaos is a ladder. Many who try to climb it fail and never get to try again. The fall breaks them. And some, are given a chance to climb. They refuse, they cling to the realm or the gods or love. Illusions. Only the ladder is real. The climb is all there is.

A small spoon of victory is just the thing to settle the stomach before battle, " Ser Imry had declared happily.

Under the sea the old fish eat the young fish.

She loved the sea. She liked the sharp salty smell of the air, and the vastness of the horizons bounded only by a vault of azure sky above. It made her feel small, but free as well.

Sometimes the storm winds blow so strong a man has no choice but to furl his sails.

Winter is coming.

Nothing burns like the cold.

Nothing burns like the cold. But only for a while. Then it gets inside you and starts to fill you up, and after a while you don't have the strength to fight it.

Winter is coming, warned the Stark words, and truly it had come to them with a vengeance. But it is high summer for House Lannister. So why am I so bloody cold?

It's not," Mormont told him. "Gods save us, boy, you're not blind and you're not stupid. When dead men come hunting in the night, do you think it matters who sits the Iron Throne?

In this world the weak are the victims of the strong.

A man should smell of sweat, not flowers.

Jon:'What are you doing up there? Why aren't you at the feast?'Tyrion: 'Too hot, too noisy, and I'd drunk too much wine', the dwarf told him. 'I learned long ago that it is considered rude to vomit on your brother.

All Knights must bleed. Blood is the seal of our devotion.

Blood calls to blood.

Brick and blood built Astapor, and brick and blood her people.

Mine is the blood of the dragon.

A bloody sword is a beautiful thing.

No singer would ever make a song about that battle. No maester would ever write down an account for one of the Reader's beloved books. No banners flew, no warhorns moaned, no great lord called his men about him to hear his final ringing words. They fought in the predawn gloom, shadow against shadow, stumbling over roots and rocks, with mud and rotting leaves beneath their feet.

Never speak of defeat before battle.

Disease could wipe out an army quicker than any battle.

The looters comes with the carrion crows after every battle.

Then Royce's parry came a beat too late. The pale sword bit through the ringmail beneath his arm. The young Lord cried out in pain. Blood welled between the rings. It seemed red as fire where they touched the snow.

A man is never so vulnerable in a battle as when he flees," Lord Eddard has told Jon once. "A running man is like a wounded animal to a soldier. It gets his bloodlust up.

The battle fever. He had never thought to experience it himself, though Jamie had told him of it often enough. How time seemed to blur and slow and evenstop, how the past and the future vanished until there was nothing but the instant, how fear fled, and thought fled, and even you body. "You don't feel your wounds then, or the ache in your back from the weight of the armor, or the sweat running down into your eyes. You stop feeling you stop thinking, you stop being you, there is only the fight , the foe, this man and then the next and the next and the next, and you know they are afraid and tired but you're not, you're alive, and death is all around you but their swords move so slowly, you can dance through them laughing." Battle fever. I am half a man and drunk with slaughter, let them kill me if they can!

Fighting is better than this waiting,” Brienne said. “You don’t feel so helpless when you fight. You have a sword and a horse, sometimes an axe. When you’re armored it’s hard for anyone to hurt you.”“Knights die in battle,” Catelyn reminded her.Brienne looked at her with those blue and beautiful eyes. “As ladies die in childbed. No one sings songs about them.

It is hard to die unmourned.

All men must die. We are but death's instruments, not death himself.

There are no heroes...in life, the monsters win.

Nobody is a villain in their own story. We're all the heroes of our own stories.

Bad and worse and worst makes a beggar's choice.

They laughed at him, but they didn't know, they didn't know about all the nice things he had. No one knew. No one. Only someday he'd see somebody different, somebody to give his things to, somebody who would give him all their things. Yes. He'd like that. He'd know her when he saw her. He'd know just what to say.

Lady Selyse was as tall as her husband, thin of body and thin of face, with prominent ears, a sharp nose, and the faintest hint of a mustache on her upper lip. She plucked it daily and cursed it regularly, yet it never failed to return. Her eyes were pale, her mouth stern, her voice a whip. She cracked it now.

The only time a man can be brave is when he is afraid.

A man can own a woman or a man can own a knife, but no man can own both.

My uncle always said that it was the sword in a man's hand that determined his worth, not the one between his legs.

Power is a trick. It lies where we believe it lies.

The comic book is not the book. the graphic novel is not the novel. The same, of course, is true of films and television. When we move a story from one medium to another, no matter how faithful we attempt to be, some changes are inevitable. Each medium has its own demands, own restrictions, its own way of telling a story.

The man is as useless as nipples on a breastplate.

Your brother Jaime keeps losing battles. He gave Sansa an angry look, as if it were her fault. He’s been taken by the Starks and we’ve lost Riverrun and now her stupid brother is calling himself a king.The dwarf smiled crookedly. “All sorts of people are calling themselves kings these days.

Yet the higher a man climbs the further he has to fall.

When the end comes, I will meet it raging.

No, no, my good knight, do not fear for me. The fire is mine. I am Daenerys Stormborn, daughter of dragons, bride of dragons, mother of dragons, don't you see? Don't you SEE?

Politicians were mostly people who'd had too little morals and ethics to stay lawyers.

We're all just songs in the end. If we are lucky.

Different roads sometimes lead to the same castle.

A craven can be as brave as any man, when there is nothing to fear. And we all do our duty, when there is no cost to it. How easy it seems then, to walk the path of honor.

Why has no one come to pry me out of here?- Cersei