A bruise is a lesson... and each lesson makes us better.

Some truths did not bear saying, and some lies were necessary.

If I could wish the Kingslayer back in chains I would. You freed him without my knowledge or consent... but what you did, I know you did for love. For Arya and Sansa, and out of grief for Bran and Rickon. Love’s not always wise, I’ve learned. It can lead us to great folly, but we follow our hearts... wherever they take us. Don’t we, Mother?

Now I understand why King Stannis let the wildlings through the Wall. He means for us to eat them.

He never wanted love, though. You cannot eat love, nor buy a horse with it, nor warm your halls on a cold night.

Historical fiction is not history. You're blending real events and actual historical personages with characters of your own creation.

Oh, my sweet summer child," Old Nan said quietly, "what do you know of fear? Fear is for the winter, my little lord, when the snows fall a hundred feet deep and the ice wind comes howling out of the north. Fear is for the long night, when the sun hides its face for years at a time, and little children are born and live and die all in darkness while the direwolves grow gaunt and hungry, and the white walkers move through the woods