George R.R. Martin Quotes - Page 2

I think there are two types of writers, the architects and the gardeners. The architects plan everything ahead of time, like an architect building a house. They know how many rooms are going to be in the house, what kind of roof they're going to have, where the wires are going to run, what kind of plumbing there's going to be. They have the whole thing designed and blueprinted out before they even nail the first board up. The gardeners dig a hole, drop in a seed and water it. They kind of know what seed it is, they know if planted a fantasy seed or mystery seed or whatever. But as the plant comes up and they water it, they don't know how many branches it's going to have, they find out as it grows. And I'm much more a gardener than an architect.

Dying is not dead.

They hate you because you act like you're better than they are...." "[they are] Four that you humiliated in the yard. Four who are probably afraid of you. I’ve watched you fight. It’s not training with you. Put a good edge on your sword, and they’d be dead meat; you know it, I know it, they know it. You leave them nothing. You shame them. Does that make you proud?

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

Is that gallantry I smell, or just stupidity? The two scents are much alike, as I recall.

Be careful you don't cut yourself. The edges are sharp enough to shave with.''Girls don't shave', Arya said.'Maybe they should. Have you ever seen the septa's legs?

The little man gave the big one a look. One of his eyes was green, one was black, and both were cool.

The gods are blind and men see only what they wish.

The only wolves we got to fear are the ones wear manskin,

My uncle always said that it was the sword in a man's hand that determined his worth, not the one between his legs.

All men must die. We are but death's instruments, not death himself.

There is power in a King's blood.

Make no choice, and you have chosen. Failure to decide, because you lack the right, is itself a decision, First Councilor. In abstaining, you vote.

Fantasy is silver and scarlet, indigo and azure, obsidian veined with gold and lapis lazuli. Reality is plywood and plastic, done up in mud brown and olive drab. Fantasy tastes of habaneros and honey, cinnamon and cloves, rare red meat and wines as sweet as summer. Reality is beans and tofu, and ashes at the end.

Every child knows its mother, Dany thought. When the seas go dry and the mountains blow in the wind like leaves.

Different roads sometimes lead to the same castle.

Winter is coming.

Sleep is a little death, dreams the whisperings of the other who would drag us all into the eternal light

She loved the sea. She liked the sharp salty smell of the air, and the vastness of the horizons bounded only by a vault of azure sky above. It made her feel small, but free as well.

Sometimes the storm winds blow so strong a man has no choice but to furl his sails.

Slowly the shapes around her took on form. Huge empty eyes stared at her hungrily through the gloom, and dimly she saw the jagged shadows of long teeth. She had lost the count. She closed her eyes and bit her lip and sent the fear away. When she looked again, the monsters would be gone. Would never have been. She pretended that Syrio was beside her in the dark, whispering in her ear. Calm as still water, she told herself. Strong as a bear. Fierce as a wolverine. She opened her eyes again. The monsters were still there, but the fear was gone.

The dog barked and wagged his tail. He was a huge, shaggy creature, ten stone of dog at least, but friendly. 'Who does he belong to?' asked Podrick. 'Why, to himself, and to the Seven. As to his name, he has not told me what it is. I call him Dog.

You don't just have people who wake up in the morning and say, "What evil things can I do today, because I'm Mr. Evil?" People do things for what they think are justified reasons. Everybody is the hero of their own story, and you have to keep that in mind. If you read a lot of history, as I do, even the worst and most monstrous people thought they were the good guys. We're all very tangled knots.

Girl or boy, we fight our battles. But the God's let us choose our weapons.

A man should smell of sweat, not flowers.

Is there any creature on earth as unfortunate as an ugly woman? (wonders Lady Catelyn Stark)

Most of the stories you hear about dragons are fodder for fools.

Nothing burns like the cold.

Man wants to be the king o’ the rabbits, he best wear a pair o’ floppy ears.

Shattered legs may heal in time, but some betrayals fester and poison the soul.

Some woman, no doubt. Most of them are." He favored Jon with a rueful grin. "Remember this, boy. All dwarfs are bastards, yet not all bastards need be dwarfs." And with that he turned and sauntered back into the feast, whistling a tune. When he opened the door, the light from within threw his shadow clear across the yard, and for just a moment Tyrion Lannister stood tall as a king.

It all goes back and back," Tyrion thought, "to our mothers and fathers and theirs before them. We are puppets dancing on the strings of those who came before us, and one day our own children will take up our strings and dance in our steads.

As Daenerys Targaryen rose to her feet, her black hissed, pale smoke venting from its mouth and nostrils. The other two pulled away from her breasts and added their voices to the call, translucent wings unfolding and stirring the air, and for the first time in hundreds of years, the night came alive with the music of dragons.

Not that I'm complaining. It was better than my old dream, where Harma Dogshead was feeding me to her pigs.""Harma's dead." Jon said."But not the pigs. They look at me the way Slayer used to look at ham. Not to say that the wildlings mean us harm. Aye, we hacked their gods apart and made them burn the pieces, but we gave them onion soup. What's a god compared to a nice bowl of onion soup? I could do with mine myself.

Noseless and Handless, the Lannister Boys.

Ice can kill as dead as fire.

Secrets are worth more than silver and sapphires.

People often claim to hunger for truth, but seldom like the taste when it's served up.

Only a starving man asks bread from a begger

You are your mother's trueborn son of Lannister.""Am I?" the dwarf replied, sardonic. "Do tell my lord father. My mother died birthing me, and he's never been sure.""I don't even know who my mother was," Jon said. "Some woman, no doubt. Most of them are." He favored Jon with a rueful grin. "Remember this, boy. All dwarfs may be bastards, yet not all bastards need be dwarfs."And with that he turned and sauntered back into the feast, whistling a tune. When he opened the door, the light from within threw his shadow clear across the yard, and for just a moment Tyrion Lannister stood tall as a king.

Power is a trick. It lies where we believe it lies.

Any cat may stare into a fire and see red mice play,

She is not truly beautiful but something about her draws the eye.

I have a realistic grasp of my own strengths and weaknesses. My mind is my weapon. My brother has his sword, King Robert has his warhammer, and I have my mind… and a mind needs books as a sword needs a whetstone, if it is to keep its edge. That’s why I read so much, Jon Snow.

The truth will set us free. But freedom is cold and empty and frightening, and lies can often be warm and beautiful.

Is it so far from madness to wisdom?" - Daenerys Targaryen

Of all the bright cruel lies they tell you, the cruelest is the one called love.

A harp can be a dangerous as a sword, in the right hands.

What fire joins none man can put aside,

I learned long ago that it is considered rude to vomit on your brother

Three good men dead, to save a hedge knight's foot.

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

Children are a battle of a different sort. ... A battle without banners or warhorns but no less fierce.

It was a hollow victory they gave me. A crown...it was the girl I prayed them for. Your sister, safe... and mine again as she was meant to be. I ask you, Ned, what good is it to wear a crown?

Dreams can lie, your Grace.

May the Father judge him justly.

A reader lives a thousand lives before he dies, said Jojen. The man who never reads lives only one.

My sister has mistaken me for a mushroom. She keeps me in the dark and feeds me shit.

No wounded man shall sound me and live.

For men, the answer was always the same and never farther away than the nearest sword. For a woman, a mother, the way was stonier and harder to know.