Books are dead men talking.

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

Is it treason to say the truth? A bitter truth, but no less true for that.

‎[Melisandre] "His Grace is growing fond of you." [Jon] "I can tell. He only threatened to behead me twice." Page 58

Catelyn had never liked this godswood. She had been born a Tully, at Riverrun far to the south, on the Red Fork of the Trident. The godswood there was a garden, bright and airy, where tall redwoods spread dappled shadows across tinkling streams, birds sang from hidden nests, and the air was spicy with the scent of flowers.

I need to sleep, but fear to dream.

You are grown so very great now, yet the higher a man climbs the farther he has to fall.