Olenna Tyrell

— Do you like it Nana?
— Another golden rose. How original. I eat from plates stamped with roses. I sleep in sheets embroidered with roses. I have a golden rose painted on my chamber pot, as if that makes it smell any better. Roses are boring, dear. "Growing strong.“ The dullest words of any house. "Winter is coming!" Now that's memorable. "We do not sow." Strong Strong. Those are houses you watch out for. Direwolwes and krakens, fierce beasts. But a golden rose growing strong, that strikes fear in the heart.

— Put the pen down, dear. We both know you're not writing anything.
— Ah, yes. The famously tart-tongued Queen of Thorns.
— And the famous tart, Queen Cersei.

I wonder if you're the worst person I've ever met. At a certain age, it's hard to recall. But the truly vile do stand out through the years.

The world is overflowing with horrible things. But they're all a tray of cakes next to death.

What happens when the nonexistent bumps against the decrepit?

The people are hungry for more than just food. They crave distractions. And if we don't provide them, they'll create their own. And their distractions are likely to end with us being torn to pieces.

But once the cow's been milked, there's no squirting the cream back up her udders.

It's a rare enough thing — a man who lives up to his reputation.

— If Robb Stark falls, Sansa Stark is the key to the North.
— And if he marries her, he'll have the key in his pocket.

You've lost, Cersei. It's the only joy I can find in all this misery.

What good is the word extravagant if it can't be used to describe a royal wedding?