They'll kill for that knighthood, but don't ever think they'll die for it.

Give me priests who are fat and corrupt and cynical,(...) the sort who like to sit on soft satin cushions, nibble sweetmeats, and diddle little boys. It's the ones who believe in gods who make the trouble. (Tyrion)

Choosing... it has always hurt. And always will. I know.

but the real enemy is the cold. It steals up on you quieter than Will, and at first you shiver and your teeth chatter and you stamp your feet and dream of mulled wine and nice hot fires. It burns, it does. Nothing burns like the cold. But only for a while. Then it gets inside you and starts to fill you up, and after a while you don't have the strength to fight it. It's easier just to sit down ot go to sleep. They say you don't feel any pain toward the end. First you go weak and drowsy, and everything starts to fade, and then it's like sinking into a sea of warm milk. Peaceful, like.

Only a fool humbles himself when the world is so full of men eager to do that job for him. (Theon Greyjoy)

I never finished any of my early stories. They were all beginnings, an endless number of beginnings.

It is one thing to be clever and another to be wise.