“If she pops out sons the way she pops in tarts, the Dreadfort will soon be overrun with Boltons.”

“on Roose Bolton's face, rage and joy looked much the same.”

“Be certain,” Catelyn told her son, “or go home and take up that wooden sword again. You cannot afford to seem indecisive in front of men like Roose Bolton and Rickard Karstark. Make no mistake, Robb-these are your bannermen, not your friends. You named yourself battle commander. Command.”

“There was an agelessness about him, a stillness; on Roose Bolton's face, rage and joy looked much the same.”

“She remembered a tale she had heard from Old Nan, about how sometimes during a long winter men who'd lived beyond their years would announce that they were going hunting. And their daughters would weep and their sons would turn their faces to the fire, she could hear Old Nan saying, but no one would stop them, or ask what game they meant to hunt, with the snows so deep and the cold wind howling. She wondered what the old Braavosi told their sons and daughters, before they set off.”

“I don't want to have a dozen sons," she had told him, appalled. "I want to have adventures" ~Asha Greyjoy”

“Sweetness cloys. Tart fruit and tart women give life its savor...Daenerys, sweet queen, I cannot tell you what a pleasure it gives me to bask once more in your presence.”