A man who sees nothing has no use for his eyes,” the Mountain declared. “Cut them out and give them to your next outrider. Tell him you hope that four eyes might see better than two . . . and if not, the man after him will have six.
George R.R. MartinStichwörter: humor inspirational
Just where do you think you are going, Arya?' the septa demanded.
Arya glared at her. 'I have to go shoe a horse,' she said sweetly taking a brief satisfaction in the shock on the septa's face.
The Gods give with one hand and take with the other.
George R.R. MartinStichwörter: tyrion-lannister
I've been killing characters my entire career, maybe I'm just a bloody minded bastard, I don't know, [but] when my characters are in danger, I want you to be afraid to turn the page (and to do that) you need to show right from the beginning that you're playing for keeps.
George R.R. MartinStichwörter: interview
I'll smith for you," Gendry went to one knee before Lord Beric. "If you'll have me, m'lord, I could be of use. I've made tools and knives and once I made a helmet that wasn't so bad. One of the Mountain's men stole it from me when we was taken."
Arya bit her lip. He means to leave me too.
Stichwörter: love head-cannon ship-forever-shipping
They were never my pack, not even Hot Pie and Gendry. I was stupid to think so, just a stupid little girl, and no wolf at all.
George R.R. MartinI've lost a hand, a father, a son, a sister, and a lover, and soon enough I will lose a brother. And yet they keep telling me House Lannister won this war.
George R.R. MartinSer Gerold Hightower had begun his history, and Ser Barristan Selmy had continued it, but the rest Jaime Lannister would need to write for himself. He could write whatever he chose, henceforth.
Whatever he chose ...
She did not come to him, however. She has never come to me, he tough. She has always waited, letting me come to her. She gives, but I must ask.
George R.R. MartinDrifting snowflakes brushed her face as light as lover’s kisses, and melted on her cheeks. At the center of the garden, beside the statue of the weeping woman that lay broken and half-buried on the ground, she turned her face up to the sky and closed her eyes. She could feel the snow on her lashes, taste it on her lips. It was the taste of Winterfell. The taste of innocence. The taste of dreams.
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