Craster is his own man. He has sworn us no vows. Nor is he subject to our laws. Your heart is noble, Jon, but learn a lesson here. We cannot set the world to rights. That is not our purpose. The Night’s Watch has other wars to fight.
She’s warm and smart and funny and she can kiss a man or slit his throat.
As a boy, he used to run across this bridge, even in the black of night. Boys believe nothing can hurt them, his doubt whispered. Grown men know better.
For men, time is a river. We are trapped in its flow, hurtling from past to present, always in the same direction.
The Night’s Watch is thousands of years old,” he said, “but I’ll wager Lord Snow’s the first brother ever honored for burning down the Lord Commander’s Tower.
Maester Luwin made a little boy of clay, baked him till he was hard and brittle, dressed him in Bran’s clothes, and flung him off a roof. Bran remembered the way he shattered. “But I never fall,” he said, falling.
Rage twisted his features. He would hurt her now, and badly, she knew that. Crack. The whip made a sound like thunder. The coil took Viserys around the throat and yanked him backward. He went sprawling in the grass, stunned and choking.
Everyone knew that bastards were wanton and treacherous by nature, having been born of lust and deceit.
When you’re done drinking you’ll tickle the innkeep to see where he keeps his gold. The way you always do.
The wildlings were cruel men, she said, slavers and slayers and thieves. They consorted with giants and ghouls, stole girl children in the dead of night, and drank blood from polished horns. And their women lay with the Others in the Long Night to sire terrible half-human children.
He looked like a naughty child who had managed to steal the moon and eat it.
A man who fears battle wins no victories.
He had lived his lies for fourteen years, yet they still haunted him at night.
His grace is not an easy man. Few are, who wear a crown. Many good men have been bad kings, Maester Aemon used to say, and some bad men have been good kings.
She stared at them with yearning. Part of her wanted to be a swan. The other part wanted to eat one.
Never draw your sword unless you mean to use it.
They shall come day and night to see the wonder that has been born again into the world, and when they see they shall lust. For dragons are fire made flesh, and fire is power.
Melisandre gazed up at it, her breath a warm moist cloud in the air. “This is my place as it is yours, and soon enough you may have grave need of me. Do not refuse my friendship, Jon. I have seen you in the storm, hard-pressed, with enemies on every side. You have so many enemies. Shall I tell you their names?
The game of thrones takes many a queer turn.
She could feel the hole inside her where her heart had been.