The gods don’t care about men, no more than kings care about peasants.

I know nothing and perhaps I never will.

And pray that he is the man I think he is, he finished silently, and not the man I fear he has become.

A man who sees nothing has no use for his eyes,” the Mountain declared. “Cut them out and give them to your next outrider. Tell him you hope that four eyes might see better than two . . . and if not, the man after him will have six.

I will take what is mine with fire and blood.

All that Syrio Forel had taught her went racing through her head. Swift as a deer. Quiet as shadow. Fear cuts deeper than swords. Quick as a snake. Calm as still water. Fear cuts deeper than swords. Strong as a bear. Fierce as a wolverine. Fear cuts deeper than swords. Then man who fears losing has already lost. Fear cuts deeper than swords. Fear cuts deeper than swords. Fear cuts deeper than swords.

Some gave me soft words and some blunt, some made excuses, some promises, some only lied. In the end words are just wind.