Soon Comes The Cold, And The Night

Some Old Wounds Never Truly Heal, And Bleed Again At The Slightest Word.

In A Room Sit Three Great Men, A King, A Priest, And A Rich Man With His Gold. Between Them Stands A Sellsword, A Little Man Of Common Birth And No Great Mind. Each Of The Great Ones Bids Him Slay The Other Two. ‘do It,’ Says The King, ‘for I Am Your Lawful Ruler.’ ‘do It,’ Says The Priest, ‘for I Command You In The Names Of The Gods.’ ‘do It,’ Says The Rich Man, ‘and All This Gold Shall Be Yours.’ So Tell Me—who Lives And Who Dies?

Ofttimes A Very Small Man Can Cast A Very Large Shadow. Tyrion Smiled. Lord Varys, I Am Growing Strangely Fond Of You. I May Kill You Yet, But I Think I'd Feel Sad About It. I Will Take That As High Praise.

When A Man Was Hurt You Took Him To The Maester, But What Could You Do When Your Maester Was Hurt?

I Did Not Do It. Yet Now I Wish I Had.’ He Turned To Face The Hall, That Sea Of Pale Faces. ‘i Wish I Had Enough Poison For You All. You Make Me Sorry That I Am Not The Monster You Would Have Me Be, Yet There It Is. I Am Innocent, But I Will Get No Justice Here.