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These old knights are more cunning than you think, or they would never have lived to see their first grey hair.

George R. R. Martin

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George R. R. Martin
Age: 76
Born: 1948
Born: September 20
Blogger
Contributing Editor
Film Producer
Novelist
Playwright
Prosaist
Science Fiction Writer
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Writer
Bayonne
New Jersey
George Raymond Richard Martin
GRRM
George R.R. Martin
George Raymond Martin
Firsts
First
Never
Would
Knights
Think
Cunning
Thinking
Grey
Lived
Hair

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Jon shrugged. 'Girls get the arms but not the swords. Bastards get the swords but not the arms. I did not make the rules, little sister.
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[Melisandre] His Grace is growing fond of you. [Jon] I can tell. He only threatened to behead me twice. Page 58
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The best calumnies are spiced with truth.
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This world is twisted beyond hope, when lowborn smugglers must vouch for the honor of kings.
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Kind? How boring that would be. I aspire to be wicked.
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Come at once, she had written to him. Help me. Save me. I need you now as I have never needed you before. I love you. I love you. I love you. Come at once
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You always try to do your own thing. One of the things I wanted to do was to write a book that combines some of the best traits of contemporary fantasy with some of the traits of the historical novel.
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Children are a battle of a different sort. ... A battle without banners or warhorns but no less fierce.
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She had killed him with a whisper, and she would kill two more before she was through. I’m the ghost in Harrenhal, she thought. And that night, there was one less name to hate.
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She narrowed her eyes. “What is our heart’s desire?” “Vengeance.” His voice was soft, as if he were afraid that someone might be listening. “Justice.” Prince Doran pressed the onyx dragon into her palm with his swollen, gouty fingers, and whispered, “Fire and blood.
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She went to the window seat and sat there, sniffling, hating them all, and herself most of all. It was all her fault, everything bad that had happened.
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If H. P. Lovecraft and H. L. Mencken had ever collaborated, they might have come up with something like The Edge of Reason. This one will delight thinkers-and outrage true believers-of all stripes.
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Why do our dreams become so much smaller when they finally come true?
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There are ghosts everywhere, Ser Jorah said softly. We carry them with us wherever we go.
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What do we say to the Lord of Death? Not today.
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The white horse and the black one wheeled like lovers at a harvest dance, the riders throwing steel in place of kisses.
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Nothing someone says before the word 'but' really counts.
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A bag of dragons buys a man's silence for a while, but a well-placed quarrel buys it forever.
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