Words are wind, Brienne told herself. They cannot hurt you. Let them wash over you.

He pushed away from her and raised his arm, forcing his stump into her face. "A Hand without a hand? A bad jape, sister. Don't ask me to rule.

If you would wed, wed. If not, take your pleasure where you find it. There's little enough of it in this world." - Oberyn

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

I prefer my history dead. Dead history is writ in ink, the living sort in blood.

She narrowed her eyes. “What is our heart’s desire?” “Vengeance.” His voice was soft, as if he were afraid that someone might be listening. “Justice.” Prince Doran pressed the onyx dragon into her palm with his swollen, gouty fingers, and whispered, “Fire and blood.

The vast majority of writers out there, they finish their books and no one cares whether their book is late or ever comes out at all. And then it comes out and two reviews are published and it sells 12 copies.