Too Stupid To Learn And Too Stupid

You Could Make A Poultice Out Of Mud To Cool A Fever. You Could Plant Seeds In Mud And Grow A Crop To Feed Your Children. Mud Would Nourish You, Where Fire Would Only Consume You, But Fools And Children And Young Girls Would Choose Fire Every Time.

Words Are Wind, Brienne Told Herself. They Cannot Hurt You. Let Them Wash Over You.

Men See What They Expect To See.

I Prefer My History Dead. Dead History Is Writ In Ink, The Living Sort In Blood.

All My Life Men Like You've Sneered At Me, And All My Life I've Been Knocking Men Like You Into The Dust.