Sins may be forgiven. Crimes require punishment.

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

You're mine," she whispered. "Mine, as I'm yours. And if we die, we die. All men must die, Jon Snow. But first, we'll live.

Just where do you think you are going, Arya?' the septa demanded. Arya glared at her. 'I have to go shoe a horse,' she said sweetly taking a brief satisfaction in the shock on the septa's face.

She should be on a hill somewhere, under a fruit tree, with the sun and clouds above her and the rain to wash her clean.

Give me a good sharp knife and a good sharp cheese and I’m a happy man.

I can be humbler than anyone.