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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.

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
Everything
Sat
Seats
Fault
Faults
Window
Went
Happened
Hating
Hate
Seat

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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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The storms come and go, the waves crash overhead, the big fish eat the little fish, and I keep on paddling. (Varys)
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A cold wind was blowing from the north, and it made the trees rustle like living things.
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The years leech at a man's memories, even those he has vowed never to forget.
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I was born in Bayonne, New Jersey. I grew up in the projects. I never went anywhere. But I have lived a thousand lives and I’ve loved a thousand loves. I’ve walked on distant worlds and seen the end of time. Because I read.
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Tyrion let the eunuch help him mount. Lord Varys, he said from the saddle, sometimes I feel as though you are the best friend I have in King's Landing and sometimes I feel you are my worst enemy. How odd. I think quite the same of you.
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What do you like to do?” She scuffed a toe amongst the rushes. “Needlework.” “Very restful, isn’t it?” “Well,” said Arya, “not the way I do it.
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Dragons old and young, true and false, bright and dark. And you. A small man with a big shadow, snarling in the midst of all.
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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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But a voice inside her whispered, There are no heroes, and she remembered what Lord Petyr had said to her, here in this very hall. 'Life is not a song, sweetling,' he'd told her, 'You may learn that one day to your sorrow.' In life, the monsters win, she told herself.
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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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The girl had hoped for fog, but the gods ignored her prayers as gods so often did.
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It was a story called ‘The Hero’ which I sold to Galaxy magazine in 1970, for $94.
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Sacrifice is never easy or it is no true sacrifice. - Stannis
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The High Septon once told me that as we sin, so do we suffer.
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his snores sounded like ducks mating.
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The only time a man can be brave is when he is afraid.
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The eunuch had looked death in the face, so near he might have kissed her on the lips.
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Ser Cleos looked like a weasel, fought like a goose, and had the courage of an especially brave ewe.
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Tolkien made the wrong choice when he brought Gandalf back. Screw Gandalf. He had a great death and the characters should have had to go on without him.
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