Laughter is poison to fear.

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?

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.

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

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

...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,

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

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

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.

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....

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

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