Littlefinger laughed aloud. “With gold and boys and promises, of course. Ser Lyn is a man of simple tastes, my sweetling. All he likes is gold and boys and killing.
Her brother Rhaegar had died for the woman he loved.
Firelight gleamed golden in the stiff whiskers that framed Lord Tywin’s face. A vein pulsed in his neck, but he did not speak. And did not speak. And did not speak.
Godless? Why, Aeron, I am the godliest man ever to raise sail! You serve one god, Damphair, but I have served ten thousand. From Ib to Asshai, when men see my sails, they pray.
The woman’s finally taken note of your charms.” “No,” Tyrion said. “No, the woman is hatching something.
Most deserve to be forgotten. The heroes will always be remembered. The best.” “The best and the worst.” So one of us is like to live in song. “And a few who were a bit of both. Like him.” He tapped the page he had been reading. “Who?” Ser Loras craned his head around to see. “Ten black pellets on a scarlet field. I do not know those arms.” “They belonged to Criston Cole, who served the first Viserys and the second Aegon.” Jaime closed the White Book. “They called him Kingmaker.
In this world the weak are the victims of the strong.
A sword’s a sword, a helm’s a helm, and if you reach in the fire you get burned, no matter who you’re serving.
Small men curse what they cannot understand.
There’s no shame in fear, my father told me, what matters is how we face it. Come, I’ll help you gather up the maps.
And a good thing.” Davos gestured at the distant lights flickering along the walls of Storm’s End. “Feel how cold the wind is? The guards will huddle close to those torches. A little warmth, a little light, they’re a comfort on a night like this. Yet that will blind them, so they will not see us pass... The god of darkness protects us now, my lady. Even you.
Dany had no wish to reduce King’s Landing to a blackened ruin full of unquiet ghosts. She had supped enough on tears. I want to make my kingdom beautiful, to fill it with fat men and pretty maids and laughing children. I want my people to smile when they see me ride by, the way Viserys said they smiled for my father.
You Westerosi are all the same. You sew some beast upon a scrap of silk, and suddenly you are all lions or dragons or eagles. I can take you to a real lion, my little friend. The prince keeps a pride in his menagerie. Would you like to share a cage with them?
The brave man slays with a sword, the craven with a wineskin. We are both kingslayers, ser.
The maesters may believe what they wish. Ask a woods witch if you would know the truth. The grey death sleeps, only to wake again. The child is not clean!
Make me a water dancer and a wolf and not afraid again, ever.
Innocence and experience make for a perfect marriage.
Drinkwater had a swagger to him, a confidence bordering on arrogance. He never seemed ill at ease, and even when he did not speak the language, he had ways of making himself understood.
It’s the loneliness of people trapped within themselves. The loneliness of people who have said the wrong thing so often that they don’t have the courage to say anything anymore.
He took another sip of ale, and began talking lovingly of breads and pies and tarts, all the things he loved. Arya rolled her eyes.