Kill the boy, Jon Snow. Winter is almost upon us. Kill the boy and let the man be born.

I bet this is a brothel," she whispered to Gendry. "You don't even know what a brothel is." "I do so," she insisted. "It's like an inn, with girls.

If somebody dies and you just go get more popcorn, it’s a superficial experience isn’t it?

Control your generosity when dealing with a chronic borrower.

Littlefinger looked like a boy who had just taken a furtive bite from a honeycomb. He was TRYING to watch for bees, but the honey was so sweet.

Men are mad and gods are madder, she told the grass, and the grass murmured its agreement.

Some allies are more dangerous than enemies.