Men are men, vows are words, and words are wind.

His eyes were open wounds beneath his heavy brows, a blue as dark as the sea by night.

The world is full of cravens who pretended to be heroes.

The maester smiled...Hush now, child, I'm much older than you. I can....die as I please.

When Maester Aemon heard him sing, he said his voice was honey poured over thunder.

"You look different now. Like a proper little girl," (said Gendry.) "I look like an oak tree, with all these stupid acorns," (said Arya.) "Nice, though. A nice oak tree. [...] You even smell nice for a change."

I swear to you, sitting a throne is a thousand times harder than winning one.