George R.R. Martin

This was how an enemy should be dealt with: with a dagger, not a declaration.

I prefer my history dead. Dead history is writ in ink, the living sort in blood.""Do you want to die old and craven in your bed?""How else? Though not till I'm done reading.

The man who passes the sentence should swing the sword.

Why won't they let me be? I just need to rest, that's all, to rest and sleep some, and maybe die a little.

She might have wept then, had not the sky begun to do it for her.

It is said with truth that every building is constructed stone by stone, and the same may be said of knowledge, extracted and compiled by many learned men, each of whom builds upon the works of those who proceeded him.

Strike hard and true, crow, or I'll come back and haunt you.

Can a man still be brave if he's afraid? That's the only tine a man can be brave.

Even brave men blind themselves sometimes, when they are afraid to see.

I value my privacy, and if sometimes my actions seem strange or arbitrary or capricious, I do not want them challenged.

She had no time for sleep, with the weight of the world upon her shoulders. And she feared to dream. Sleep is a little death, dreams the whisperings of the Other, who would drag us all into his eternal night.

When a dog goes bad, the fault lies with his master.

Was there ever a war where only one side bled?

Jon Snow, is this a proper castle now? Not just a tower?___t is._ Jon took her hand.__ood,_ she whispered. __ wanted t_ see one proper castle, before _ before I ___ou__l see hundred castles. The battle__ done. Maester Aemon will see to you. You__e kissed by fire, remember? Lucky. It will take more than an arrow to kill you. Aemon will draw it out and patch you up, and we__l get milk of the poppy for the pain.__he just smiled at that. ____ou remember that cave? We should have stayed in that cave. I told you so.___e__l go back to the cave,_ he said._ You__e not going to die, Ygritte. You__e not.___h._ Ygritte cupped his cheek with her hand. __ou know nothing, Jon Snow,_ she sighed, dying.

Death is so terribly final, while life is full of possibilities.

Only the innocent know the peace of untroubled sleep. Confess sins, and you will sleep like a newborn babe.

His wits have gone dark as his eyes

She could not bear to look at him just now. If she did, she might well slap him again. Or cry. Or kiss him. And never know which was right and which was wrong and which was madness.