In a room sit three great men, a king, a priest, and a rich man with his gold. Between them stands a sellsword, a little man of common birth and no great mind. Each of the great ones bids him slay the other two. ‘Do it,’ says the king, ‘for I am your lawful ruler.’ ‘Do it,’ says the priest, ‘for I command you in the names of the gods.’ ‘Do it,’ says the rich man, ‘and all this gold shall be yours.’ So tell me—who lives and who dies?

What do we say to the Lord of Death?" "Not today.

Some old wounds never truly heal, and bleed again at the slightest word.

There are too many steps in this castle, and it seems to me they add a few every night, just to vex me" - Maester Cressen

His time was past, her handmaid Irri declared. No man should live longer than his teeth.

Men have scars, women mysteries.

When a pirate grows rich enough, they make him a prince.