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She could not bear to look at him just now. If she did, she might well slap him again. Or cry. Or kiss him. And never know which was right and which was wrong and which was madness.

George R. R. Martin

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George R. R. Martin
Age: 76
Born: 1948
Born: September 20
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Bayonne
New Jersey
George Raymond Richard Martin
GRRM
George R.R. Martin
George Raymond Martin
Wells
Kiss
Might
Madness
Well
Kissing
Looks
Bear
Right
Cry
Never
Bears
Wrong
Look
Slap

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Death is so terribly final, while life is full of possibilities.
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Great wrongs have been done you, but the past is dust. The future may yet be won.
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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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My old grandmother always used to say, Summer friends will melt away like summer snows, but winter friends are friends forever.
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Perhaps I cannot make my people good, she told herself, but I should at least try to make them a little less bad.
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In real life, the hardest aspect of the battle between good and evil is determining which is which.
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Woman? Is that meant to insult me? I would return the slap, if I took you for a man. - Daenerys Targaryen
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One of your northmen hit me with a morningstar during the battle on the Green Fork. I escaped him by falling off my horse. (Tyrion)
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Only a fool humbles himself when the world is so full of men eager to do that job for him. (Theon Greyjoy)
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Sometimes there is no happy choice, Sam, only one less grievous than the others. - Jon Snow
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We look up at the same stars and see such different things. - Jon Snow
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It was that white cloak that soiled me, not the other way around.
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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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Sam loved to listen to music and make his own songs, to wear soft velvets, to play in the castle kitchen beside the cooks, drinking in the rich smells as he snitched lemon cakes and blueberry tarts. His passions were books and kittens and dancing, clumsy as he was.
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You were made to be kissed, often and well.
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A lion doesn't concern itself with the opinion of sheep.
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Ned was clad in a white linen doublet with the direwolf of Stark on the breast his black wool cloak was fastened at the collar by his silver hand of office. Black and white and grey, all the shades of truth.
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She just laughed in his face and told him she'd sooner crawl in a bed with his father's leeches before she'd crawl in one with him. She stopped laughing when he put his knife in her.
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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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When you have known the kiss of a flaying knife, a laugh loses all its power to hurt you.
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