“... a mind needs books as a sword needs a whetstone, if it is to keep its edge.”
“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.”
“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.”
“Some old wounds never truly heal, and bleed again at the slightest word.”
“When you play a game of thrones you win or you die.”
“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.”
“Most men would rather deny a hard truth than face it.”
“The things we love destroy us every time, lad. Remember that.”
“When the snows fall and the white winds blow, the lone wolf dies but the pack survives.”
“What is honor compared to a woman's love? What is duty against the feel of a newborn son in your arms . . . or the memory of a brother's smile? Wind and words. Wind and words. We are only human, and the gods have fashioned us for love. That is our great glory, and our great tragedy.”
“Why is it that when one man builds a wall, the next man immediately needs to know what's on the other side?”
“And I have a tender spot in my heart for cripples and bastards and broken things.”
“Once you’ve accepted your flaws, no one can use them against you.”
“If I look back I am lost.”
“Every flight begins with a fall.”
“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.”
“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 feet
deep and the ice wind comes howling out of the north. Fear is for the long
night, when the sun hides its face for years at a time, and little children
are born and live and die all in darkness while the direwolves grow gaunt and
hungry, and the white walkers move through the woods”
“Different roads sometimes lead to the same castle.”
“Life is not a song, sweetling.
Someday you may learn that, to your sorrow.”
“Give me honorable enemies rather than ambitious ones, and I'll sleep more easily by night.”
“Summer will end soon enough, and childhood as well.”
“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.”
“The things I do for love.”
“A bruise is a lesson... and each lesson makes us better.”
“We English have perfect eyesight."
Alec finally turned to look at her. "Are you jesting with me, wife?"
"You decide, husband."
"Aye, you are," Alec answered. "I've already learned all about the English sense of humor."
"And what have you learned?"
"You don't have any.”
“want that glib and oily art, To speak and purpose not.”
“He called after her as she walked away on the path.
"Alys? Why were we dancing?"
"Take your mind there again," she called back. "You'll remember!"
To herself she murmured, shaking her head with amusement as her eyes twinkled at her own memory.
"Only thirteen. But we was barefoot and flower-strewn and foolish with first love.”
“turn and turn and turn again
you see the what, but not the when
remedy and wrong entwine
and so they form a single vine”
“A wife! No one else could love a man who had been trampled on by iron feet. She would wash his feet after he had been spat on; she would comb his tangled hair; she would look into his embittered eyes. The more lacerated his soul, the more revolting and contemptible he became to the world, the more she would love him. She would run after a truck; she would wait in queues on Kuznetsky Most, or even by the camp boundary fence, desperate to hand over a few sweets or an onion; she would bake shortbread for him on an oil stove; she would give years of her life just to be able to see him for half an hour...
Not every woman you sleep with can be called a wife.”
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