A Song of Ice and Fire. Book 2. A Clash of Kings

With two eyes you see my face. With three you could see my heart. With two you can see that oak tree there. With three you could see the acorn the oak grew from and the stump that it will one day become. With two you see no farther than your walls. With three you would gaze south to the Summer Sea and north beyond the Wall.”

When a pirate grows rich enough, they make him a prince.

“A tourney,” Hal Mollen declared. He had a penchant for loudly announcing the obvious.

“That man said he’d take your head too.”
“Well, as to that,” Yoren said, “if he can get it off my shoulders, he’s welcome to it.”

“I am their rightful queen,” Dany protested.

“You are a stranger who means to land on their shores with an army of outlanders who cannot even speak the Common Tongue. The lords of Westeros do not know you, and have every reason to fear and mistrust you. You must win them over before you sail. A few at least.”

The Blackfish was the veteran of half a hundred battles; Edmure was the veteran of one, and that one lost.

Sometimes as a lark we would dress in each other’s clothes and spend a whole day each as the other.

I may be a poor envoy, but I am a good mourner, gods save me.

They are boys drunk on song and story, and like all boys, they think themselves immortal.

The face of a drowned woman, Catelyn thought. Can you drown in grief?