A Game of Thrones (A Song of Ice and Fire, #1)

by George R.R. Martin

“Never forget what you are, for surely the world will not. Make it your strength. Then it can never be your weakness. Armor yourself in it, and it will never be used to hurt you.”

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

His hand left powder stains on Ned’s sleeve, and he smelled as foul and sweet as flowers on a grave.

Bran’s wolf had saved the boy’s life, he thought dully. What was it that Jon had said when they found the pups in the snow? Your children were meant to have these pups, my lord. And he had killed Sansa’s, and for what? Was it guilt he was feeling? Or fear? If the gods had sent these wolves, what folly had he done?

Ser Alliser Thorne walked from the room so stiffly it looked as though he had a dagger up his butt.

“The common people pray for rain, healthy children, and a summer that never ends,” Ser Jorah told her. “It is no matter to them if the high lords play their game of thrones, so long as they are left in peace.” He gave a shrug. “They never are.”

“Khaleesi, you are with child.” “I know,” Dany told her. It was her fourteenth name day.

I'm sick

No one knew where “Hodor” had come from, she said, but when he started saying it, they started calling him by it. It was the only word he had.

“It’s not murder I find amusing, Lord Stark, it’s you. You rule like a man dancing on rotten ice. I daresay you will make a noble splash. I believe I heard the first crack this morning.”

It made her think of the sea. Maybe that was the way out. Old Nan used to tell stories of boys who stowed away on trading galleys and sailed off into all kinds of adventures. Maybe Arya could do that too.