Quotes by George R.R. Martin

Can I dwell on what I scarce remember? I held a castle on the Marches once, and there was a woman I was pledged to marry, but I could not find that castle today, nor tell you the color of that womans hair. Who knighted me, old friend? What were my favorite foods? It all fades. Sometimes I think I was born on the bloody grass in that grove of ash, with the taste of fire in my mouth and a hole in my chest. Are you my mother, Thoros?

The pale pink light of dawn sparkled on branch and leaf and stone. Every blade of grass was carved from emerald, every drip of water turned to diamond. Flowers and mushrooms alike wore coats of glass. Even the mud puddles had a bright brown sheen. Through the shimmering greenery, the black tents of his brothers were encased in a fine glaze of ice. So there is magic beyond the Wall after all.

Oh yes, it hurts at times to be alone among the stars. But it hurts a lot more to be alone at a party. A lot more.

Time is different for a tree than for a man. Sun and soil and water, these are the things a weirwood understands, not days and years and centuries. For men, time is a river. We are trapped in its flow, hurtling from past to present, always in the same direction. The lives of trees are different. They root and grow and die in one place, and that river does not move them. The oak is the acorn, the acorn is the oak.

It was pleasant to think that men still sang, even in the midst of butchery and famine.

The strongest trees are rooted in the dark places of the earth. Darkness will be your cloak, your shield, your mothers milk. Darkness will make you strong.

All the world knew that a maester forged his silver link when he learned the art of healing—but the world preferred to forget that men who knew how to heal also knew how to kill.

Now, how do you suppose this queen will react when you turn up with your begging bowl in hand and say, Good morrow to you, Auntie. I am your nephew, Aegon, returned from the dead. Ive been hiding on a poleboat all my life, but now Ive washed the blue dye from my hair and Id like a dragon, please...and oh, did I mention, my claim to the Iron Throne is stronger than your own?

I only need half my wits to be a match for you.

…When you’ve know me longer, you’ll learn that I mean everything I say.”“Even the lies?”“Especially the lies. Lord Petyr…

Are you certain they never cut your member off? Tormund gave a shrug, as if to say he would never understand such madness. Well, you are a free man now, but if you will have the girl, best find yourself a she-bear. If a man does not use his member it grows smaller and smaller, until one day he wants to piss and cannot find it.

I am the sword in the darkness.

And it’s great to have all these readers and fans who, for the most part, are very nice people, saying they love the books and the TV show. But there are so many of them and it just doesn’t end. Oh, and ‘selfies’! If I could clap my hands and burn out every camera phone in the world, I swear I’d do it!

If the novels are still being read in 50 years, no one is ever going to say: ‘What’s great about that sixth book is that he met his deadline!’ It will be about how the whole thing stands up.

I often said that writers are of two types.There is the architect, which is one type. The architect, as if designing a building, lays out the entire novel at a time. He knows how many rooms there will be or what a roof will be made of or how high it will be, or where the plumbing will run and where the electrical outlets will be in its room. All that before he drives the first nail. Everything is there in the blueprint.And then theres the gardener who digs the hole in the ground, puts in the seed and waters it with his blood and sees what comes up. The gardener knows certain things. Hes not completely ignorant. He knows whether he planted an oak tree, or corn, or a cauliflower. He has some idea of the shape but a lot of it depends on the wind and the weather and how much blood he gives it and so forth.No one is purely an architect or a gardener in terms of a writer, but many writers tend to one side or the other. Im very much more a gardener.

A sweet fate oft hides a sinners heart.

A son for a son, heh. But thats a grandson...and he never was much use. --Walder Frey

Much that may seem evil can be good.

You dont just have people who wake up in the morning and say, What evil things can I do today, because Im Mr. Evil? People do things for what they think are justified reasons. Everybody is the hero of their own story, and you have to keep that in mind. If you read a lot of history, as I do, even the worst and most monstrous people thought they were the good guys. Were all very tangled knots.

The wolf blood, Arya remembered now. Ill be as strong as Robb, I said I would. She took a deep breath, then lifted the broomstick in both hands and brought down across her knee. It broke with a loud crack, and she threw the pieces aside. I am a direwolf, and done with the wooden teeth.