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Drowning was bad enough. But drowning sad and sober, that's too cruel.
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
Screenwriter
Television Producer
Writer
Bayonne
New Jersey
George Raymond Richard Martin
GRRM
George R.R. Martin
George Raymond Martin
Drowning
Sober
Cruel
Enough
More quotes by George R. R. Martin
Gods and wonders always appear, to attend the birth of kings.
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Of course it’s not enough to be a good man to be an effective ruler and it never has been.
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When we speak of the morrow nothing is ever certain.
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If I took it away, no doubt I'd find a morningstar hidden under your pillow within a fortnight. Try not to stab your sister, whatever the provocation.
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It is being common-born that is dangerous, when the great lords play their game of thrones.
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- Some men think because they are afraid to do. - There is a difference between fear and caution.
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Nothing burns like the cold.
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Ser Barristan loves his honor, Grand Maester Pycelle loves his office, and Littlefinger loves Littlefinger.
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You make us look bad', complained Toad. 'You looked bad before I ever met you', Jon told him.
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Nothing burns like the cold. But only for a while. Then it gets inside you and starts to fill you up, and after a while you don't have the strength to fight it.
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I do so hope he plays us 'The Rains of Castamere.' It has been an hour. I've forgotten how it goes -- Olenna Tyrell, the HBIC
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As Daenerys Targaryen rose to her feet, her black hissed, pale smoke venting from its mouth and nostrils. The other two pulled away from her breasts and added their voices to the call, translucent wings unfolding and stirring the air, and for the first time in hundreds of years, the night came alive with the music of dragons.
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People often claim to hunger for truth, but seldom like the taste when it's served up.
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Sleep is a little death, dreams the whisperings of the Other, who would drag us all into his eternal night.
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A Lannister always pays his debts.
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The old man laid a withered, spotted hand on his shoulder. It hurts, boy, he said softly. Oh, yes. Choosing . . . it has always hurt. And always will. I know.
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Sometimes he could almost forget that it was there, the way you forget about the sky or the earth underfoot, but there were other times when it seemed as if there was nothing else in the world.
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Nothing someone says before the word 'but' really counts.
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Weese, she would whisper, first of all. Dunsen, Chiswyck, Polliver, Raff the Sweetling. The Tickler and the Hound. Ser Gregor, Ser Armory, Ser Ilyn, Ser Meryn, King Joffrey, Queen Cersei.
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There is something old and true in fantasy that speaks to something deep within us, to the child who dreamt that one day he would hunt the forests of the night, and feast beneath the hollow hills, and find a love to last forever somewhere south of Oz and north of Shangri-La.
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