Perhaps I will die too, she told herself, and the thought did not seem so terrible to her. If she flung herself from the window, she could put an end to her suffering, and in the years to come the sin...
Pain was as much a part of knighthood as were swords and shields.
Our gods gave us legs to run with, noses to smell with, hands to touch and feel. What mad cruel god would give a man eyes and tell him he must forever keep them shut, and never look at all the beauty...
One night, in his cups, he drank a jar of wildfire, after telling his friends it would transform him into a dragon, but the gods were kind and it transformed him into a corpse.
One day on a ranging we brought down a fine big elk. We were skinning it when the smell of blood drew a shadowcat out of its lair. I drove it off, but not before it shredded my cloak to ribbons. Do yo...
Once a man has seen a dragon in flight, let him stay home and tend his garden in content, someone had written once, for this wide world has no greater wonder. Tyrion scratched at his scar and tried to...
Old Nan used to tell stories about knights and their ladies who would sleep in a single bed with a blade in between them for honor’s sake, but he thought this must be the first time where a direwolf t...
Not everyone who spoke you friendly was really your friend. - Arya
May, said Dany. That was such a slippery word, may. In any language.
Kill me, and be cursed. You are no king of mine.
Keep friends at your back and foes where you can see them.
Irri and Jhiqui argued about Rakharo. You are too skinny for him, Jhiqui was saying. You are almost a boy. Rakharo does not bed with boys. This is known. Irri bristled back. It is known that you are a...
If? The word is when.
If you step in a nest of snakes, does it matter which one bites you first?
If walls could keep us small, peasants would all be tiny and kings as large as giants, said Ser Jorah. I've seen huge men born in hovels, and dwarfs who dwelt in castles.
I'm not a lady, Arya wanted to tell her, I'm a wolf.
I want to live forever in a land where summer lasts a thousand years. I want a castle in the clouds where I can look down over the world. I want to be six-and-twenty again. When I was six-and-twenty I...
I prefer my history dead. Dead history is writ in ink, the living sort in blood.
I am the sword in the darkness. I am the watcher on the walls. I am the fire that burns against the cold, the light that brings the dawn, the horn that wakes the sleepers, the shield that guards the r...
I am not going to get into it myself, except to say(1) if I am writing boy fiction, who are all those boys with breasts who keep turning up by the hundreds at my signings and readings?