George R.R. Martin Quotes - Page 7

Innocence and experience make for a perfect marriage.

Never drink with Dornishmen when the moon is full.

A son for a son, heh. But that's a grandson...and he never was much use." --Walder Frey

Why do the Gods make kings and queens if not to protect the ones who can't protect themselves?

Words are wind.

A shy smile, strong arms, clever fingers, and two sure swords. What more could any woman want?

Death, there will be death, aye. Your lordship lost a son at the Red Wedding. I lost four upon the Blackwater. And why? Because the Lannisters stole the throne. Go to King’s Landing and look on Tommen with your own eyes, if you doubt me. A blind man could see it. What does Stannis offer you? Vengeance. Vengeance for my sons and yours, for your husbands and your fathers and your brothers. Vengeance for your murdered lord, your murdered king, your butchered princes. Vengeance!

These are the winter's people, he reminded himself. Tears froze upon your cheeks where they come from.

Well, the drums gave me headaches, the sunlight flashing on my armor cooked me up like harvest day, and those magnificent destriers shit everywhere.

No man should live longer than his teeth.

Day followed day, and night followed night, until Dany knew she could not endure a moment longer. She would kill herself rather than go on, she decided one night... Yet when she slept that night, she dreamt the dragon dream again. Viserys was not in it this time. There was only her and the dragon. Its scales were black as night, wet and slick with blood. Her blood, Dany sensed. Its eyes were pools of molten magma and when it opened its mouth, the flame came roaring out in a hot jet. She could hear it singing to her. She opened her arms to the fire, embraced it, let it swallow her whole, let it cleanse her and temper her and scour her clean. She could feel her flesh sear and blacken and slough away, could feel her blood boil and turn to steam, and yet there was no pain. She felt strong and new and fierce. And the next day, strangely, she did not seem to hurt quite as much.

Silence is a prince's friend.

Blood calls to blood.

Go Ahead, call me all the names you want," Sansa said airily. "You won't dare when I'm married to Joffrey. You'll have to bow and call me Your Grace." She shrieked as Arya flung the orange across the table. It caught her in the middle of the forehead with a wet squish and plopped down into her lap."You have juice on your face, Your Grace ," Arya said.

It’s you and me that matters to me and you.

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.

Maris sighed, and put a gentle hand on his arm. "We'll do what we must, Coll. We have no choice." He looked up at her now, looking to her again as the child to the mother; although he knew now that she was as helpless as he, still he hoped. "Why don't we have a choice? I don't understand."Maris sighed. "It's law, Coll. We don't go against tradition here, you know that. We all have duties put upon us. If we had a choice I would keep the wings, I would be a flyer. And you could be a singer. We'd both be proud, and know we were good at what we did. Life will be hard as a land-bound. I want the wings so much. I've had them, and it doesn't seem right that they should be taken from me, butmaybe—maybe the tightness in it is something I just don't see. People wiser than we decided that thingsshould be the way they are, and maybe, maybe I'm just being a child about it, wanting everything my own way.

Dreams turn to dust in light of day.

He wished he could relieve himself of his doubts and guilts half as easily.

She tried so hard to be brave, to be fierce as a wolverine and all, but sometimes she felt like she was just a little girl after all.

Free folk don't follow names, or little cloth animals sewn on a tunic," the King-Beyond-the-Wall had told him. "They won't dance for coins, they don't care how your style yourself or what that chain of office means or who your grandsire was. They follow strength. They follow the man.

It is hard to die unmourned.

A craven can be as brave as any man, when there is nothing to fear. And we all do our duty, when there is no cost to it. How easy it seems then, to walk the path of honor. Yet soon or late in every man's life comes a day when it is not easy, a day when he must choose. (Maester Aemon)

They’re both bungholes who think they’re too noble to shit,

An ugly smile. An ugly soul.

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.

All Knights must bleed. Blood is the seal of our devotion.

My mother said my father had a drop of dragon blood.”“Two drops. That, or a cock six feet long.

It is hard to look a hero when mounted on a pig.

Every blade of grass was carved from emerald, every drip of water turned to diamond.

The ground was so far below him, he could barely make it out through the grey mists that whirled around him, but he could feel how fast he was falling, and he knew what was waiting for him down there. Even in dreams, you could not fall forever. He would wake up in the instant before he hit the ground, he knew. You always woke in the instant before you hit the ground.

I often said that writers are of two types.There is the architect, which is one type. The architect, as if designing a building, lays out the entire novel at a time. He knows how many rooms there will be or what a roof will be made of or how high it will be, or where the plumbing will run and where the electrical outlets will be in its room. All that before he drives the first nail. Everything is there in the blueprint.And then there's the gardener who digs the hole in the ground, puts in the seed and waters it with his blood and sees what comes up. The gardener knows certain things. He's not completely ignorant. He knows whether he planted an oak tree, or corn, or a cauliflower. He has some idea of the shape but a lot of it depends on the wind and the weather and how much blood he gives it and so forth.No one is purely an architect or a gardener in terms of a writer, but many writers tend to one side or the other. I'm very much more a gardener.

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

It is one thing to be clever and another to be wise.

The sword was not the kingdom, he says.

... a mind needs books as a sword needs a whetstone, if it is to keep its edge.

Words are like arrows, Arianne. Once loosed, you cannot call them back.

Oh yes, it hurts at times to be alone among the stars. But it hurts a lot more to be alone at a party. A lot more.

worms have crawled up your nose and eaten your wits.

The enemy of my enemy is my friend, men said, but the enemy of my friend is my enemy.

We are one. Man, horse, lance, we are one beast of blood and wood and iron.

Some words are wind, ser. Some are treason.