This is what life is. Fear, rage, desire, love. To stop feeling emotions, to stop wanting to feel them is to feel death.
I hurt Krista. I don’t feel good about that. I hope you’re not mad at me. But you have to admit, she’s just like everyone else. Too afraid to peak over their walls for fear of what they might see. Not me. That’s what I do. I look.
Don’t let the moment pass. Don’t let the people you love walk by you without letting them know how you feel about them. Because life slips by and then it’s over.
I do things because they feel good. I drink because it feels good. I killed my husband because it felt good to be rid of him. I f*** my brother because it feels good to feel him inside me. I lie about f*****g my brother because it feels good to keep our son safe from hateful hypocrites. I killed your High Sparrow and all his little sparrows, all his septons, all his septas, all his filthy soldiers, because it felt good to watch them burn.
What is honor compared to a woman’s love? And what is duty against the feel of a newborn son in your arms? Or a brother’s smile?
Two days ago I strangled a woman to death just with my hands. That’s a strange sensation. Something so tremendous done by something so simple. The first ten seconds were uncomfortable, a feeling of limbo, but then your muscles tense, and she struggles and fights, but it almost disappears in the background along with everything else in the world. At that moment it’s just you and absolute power, nothing else. That moment stayed with me. I thought I’d feel guilty for being a murderer, but I don’t. I feel wonder.
They say when a parent dies, a child feels his own mortality. But when a child dies, it’s immortality that a parent loses.
There’s nothing more isolating than not being able to feel time. To not feel the distance between hours, days.
The hardest thing you’re gonna have to face is not some monster out there with powers. It’s gonna be that feeling of uselessness when you can’t do anything.
When you are what I am, you don’t feel things the way normal humans do. An emotion is like a flavor in my mouth. I can taste it. Joy tastes like strawberries. Hate is like ice chips in a martini. And love is… rosewater. I enjoy them all except for one. Betrayal. That has the taste of the char on a piece of burnt meat.