George R. R. Martin Quotes

Only a fool humbles himself when the world is so full of men eager to do that job for him.

A sword’s a sword, a helm’s a helm, and if you reach in the fire you get burned, no matter who you’re serving.

The battle between good and evil is a legitimate theme for a Fantasy (or for any work of fiction, for that matter), but in real life that battle is fought chiefly in the individual human heart. Too many contemporary Fantasies take the easy way out by externalizing the struggle, so the heroic protagonists need only smite the evil minions of the dark power to win the day. And you can tell the evil minions, because they're inevitably ugly and they all wear black. I wanted to stand much of that on its head. In real life, the hardest aspect of the battle between good and evil is determining which is which.

El amor es un veneno. Un veneno dulce, sí, pero un veneno que mata.

The hotel bar was quiet and dark, with the kind of mood that promotes good talk and serious drinking.

My own heroes are the dreamers, those men and women who tried to make the world a better place than when they found it, whether in small ways or great ones. Some succeeded, some failed, most had mixed results... but it is the effort that's heroic, as I see it. Win or lose, I admire those who fight the good fight.

She said sorcery is a sword without a hilt. There is no safe way to grasp it.

A wise woman...A sword without a hilt is still a sword, though, and a sword is a fine thing to have when foes are all about.

I crossed a thousand leagues to come to you, and lost the best part of me along the way. Don't tell me to leave.

"You have juice on your face, Your Grace." Arya said.

But my philosophy is that plot advancement is not what the experience of reading fiction is about. If all we care about is advancing the plot, why read novels? We can just read Cliffs Notes.

Ser Jorah was not a handsome man. He had a neck and shoulders like a bull, and coarse black hair covered his arms and chest so thickly that there was none left for his head.

"How can you still count yourself a knight, when you have forsaken every vow you ever swore?"

Jaime reached for the flagon to refill his cup. "So many vows...they make you swear and swear. Defend the king. Obey the king. Keep his secrets. Do his bidding. Your life for his. But obey your father. Love your sister. Protect the innocent. Defend the weak. Respect the gods. Obey the laws. It's too much. No matter what you do, you're forsaking one vow or the other."

"Her name is Brienne," Jaime said. "Brienne, the maid of Tarth. You are still maiden, I hope?"

Her broad homely face turned red. "Yes."

"Oh, good," Jaime said. "I only rescue maidens."

A long time ago, she remembered her father saying that when the cold winds blow the lone wolf dies but the pack survives.

He had it all backwards.

Arya the lone wolf, still lives, but the wolves of the pack had been taken and slain and skinned.

And any man who must say 'I am king' is no true king at all.