The greatest fools are ofttimes more clever than the men who laugh at them.

We were talking about the prince,' Sansa said, her voice soft as a kiss. Arya knew which prince she meant: Joffrey, of course. The tall, handsome one. Sansa got to sit with him at the feast. Arya had to sit with the little fat one. Naturally.

She remembered the godswood, drooping branches heavy with moisture, and the sound of her brother’s laughter as he chased her through piles of damp leaves.

For herself, she wanted sleet and ice, howling winds, thunder to shake the very stones of the Red Keep. She wanted a storm to match her rage.

We know truth for the cruel instrument it is. Beauty is infinitely preferable to truth.

On the gallows tree, all men are brothers.

The storms come and go, the waves crash overhead, the big fish eat the little fish, and I keep on paddling. (Varys)