Game of Thrones

My brother once told me that nothing someone says before the word "but" really counts.

I'm not questioning your honor, Lord Janos. I'm denying its existence.

A mind needs books like a sword needs a whetstone.

— Power is a curious thing, my lord. Are you fond of riddles?
— Why, am I about to hear one?
— Three great men sit in a room. A king, a priest and a rich man. Between them stands a common sellsword. Each great man bids the sellsword kill the other two. Who lives, who dies?
— Depends on the sellsword.
— Does it? He has neither crown nor gold nor favor with the gods.
— He has a sword, the power of life and death.
— But if it's swordsmen who rule, why do we pretend kings hold all the power? When Ned Stark lost his head, who was truly responsible? Joffrey? The executioner? Or something else?
— I've decided I don't like riddles.
— Power resides where men believe it resides. It's a trick, a shadow on the wall. And a very small man can cast a very large shadow.

A lion doesn’t concern himself with the opinions of a sheep.

— He's Tyrion the Imp, of House Lannister. He killed your father. He murdered the Hand of the King!
— Oh, did I kill him too? I've been a very busy man.

— 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.

What we don't know is usually what gets us killed.

Some doors close forever... others open in most unexpected places.

Love comes in at the eyes.

— The rumors of your demise were unfounded.
— Sorry to disappoint you.

— Your brother wouId never have submitted to capture so meekly.
— We have our differences, Jaime and I. He's braver. I'm better-looking.

The Lord of Light wants his enemies burned, the Drowned God wants them drowned. Why are all the gods such vicious cunts? Where is the god of tits and wine?

— Tyrion of the House Lannister, you stand accused by the Queen Regent of regicide. Did you kill King Joffrey?
— No.
— Did your wife, the Lady Sansa?
— Not that I know of.
— How would you say he died, then?
— Choked on his pigeon pie.
— So you would blame the bakers?
— Or the pigeons. Just leave me out of it.

And only by admitting what we are can we get what we want.