There are times when you give me cause to wonder whose side you are on.

These are old bones, Lannister, but they have never felt a chill like this. Tell the king what I say, I pray you. Winter is coming.

A small man with a big shield. You'll give the archers fits.

You fly. Twenty day, thirty, fifty maybe. Then you fly.

You're a liar! Mother, I want to see him fly.

The storms come and go, the waves crash overhead, the big fish eat the little fish, and I keep on paddling.

The wolves do not like your smell, Lannister.

We ascend on foot the rest of the way…If you prefer, my lord of Lannister, I can arrange for you to ride up with the bread and beer and apples.

Tywin seems a hard man to you, I know, but he is no harder than he's had to be.

The queen needed Lord Arryn dead, she did not say so, could not, Varys was listening, always listening, but when I looked at her I knew.

I've never been frightened of shepherds. It's the sheep who trouble me.

My singer may never sing again now. You've scared the voice from him.

Men are seldom as they appear. You look so very guilty that I am convinced of your innocence.

They'll fight brave enough at the start when it's all warhorns and blowing banners. But if the battle looks to be going sour they'll break, and they'll break bad.

You threatened to geld me!

You Westerosi are all the same. You sew some beast upon a scrap of silk, and suddenly you are all lions or dragons or eagles.

You are an ill-made, devious, disobedient, spiteful little creature full of envy, lust and low cunning.

When the sun has set, no candle can replace it.

Each man has his song, as my old master used to say when he was teaching me to play. Others might like my tune better. The queen, perhaps. Or your lord father.

There are no devotions, my lord. No priests or songs or candles. Only trees, and silent prayer. You would be bored.

The day you defeat me at cyvasse will be the day turtles crawl out my arse.

Unless you can cut the fog with your next witticism, keep it to yourself.

It is not wise for mortals to look too deeply at those fires, my friend. Those are the fires of god's own wrath, and no human flame can match them. We are small creatures, men.

I saw a man drowned in gold once. It was not a pretty sight. If you ever get my sword, it will be through your bowels.