George RR Martin

Dawn came cruel, a dagger of light.

The talk at the walls had all been of troubles in the city of late. People were crowding in, running from the war, and many had no way to live save robbing and killing each other.

The longer he lived, the more Tyrion realized that nothing was simple and little was true.

As for those she served with, she did not even want to even know their names. That only made it hurt worse when they died.

... for a moment the forest seemed a deep green sea, storm-tossed and heaving, eternal and unknowable.

If it is the swordsmen who rule us in truth, why do we pretend kings have the power?

Is a secret still a secret if everyone knows it?

If it's softer than ground and has a roof over it, I call it a bed.

Part of her wanted to be a swan. The other part wanted to eat one. She had broken her fast on some acorn paste and a handful of bugs. Bugs weren't so bad when you got used to them. Worms were worse, but not so bad as the pain in your belly from days without food.

This world is twisted beyond hope, when lowborn smugglers must vouch for the honor of kings

The morning air was dark with the smoke of burning gods.

“Tell me, Bronn. If I told you to kill a babe . . . an infant girl, say, still at her mother’s breast . . . would you do it? Without question?” “Without question? No.” The sellsword rubbed thumb and forefinger together. “I'd ask how much.”