Men are men, vows are words, and words are wind.
Love is sweet, dearest Ned, but it cannot change a man’s nature.
Love is poison. A sweet poison, yes, but it will kill you all the same.
Life is not a song, sweetling. You may learn that one day to your sorrow.
Let them see that their words can cut you, and you’ll never be free of the mockery. If they want to give you a name, take it, make it your own. Then they can’t hurt you with it anymore.
Laughter is poison to fear.
Knowledge is a weapon, Jon. Arm yourself well before you ride forth to battle.
It was queer how sometimes a child’s innocent eyes can see things that grown men are blind to.
It was almost worth dying to know all the trouble he’d made.
It is no good hammering your sword into a plowshare if you must forge it again on the morrow.
It all goes back and back, 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 on in our steads.
Is it treason to say the truth? A bitter truth, but no less true for that.
