The years leech at a man's memories, even those he has vowed never to forget.

When the end comes, I will meet it raging.

The old man laid a withered, spotted hand on his shoulder. "It hurts, boy," he said softly. "Oh, yes. Choosing . . . it has always hurt. And always will. I know.

We only make peace with our enemies. That's why it's called making peace.

Schemes are like fruit, they require a certain ripening.

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

Only a fool humbles himself when the world is so full of men eager to do that job for him. (Theon Greyjoy)