“No mortal man could frighten him, no more than the darkness could, nor the bones of his soul, the grey and grisly bones of his soul.”

“Lord Rodrik Harlaw was neither fat nor slim; neither tall nor short; neither ugly nor handsome. His hair was brown, as were his eyes, though the short, neat beard he favored had gone grey. All in all, he was an ordinary man, distinguished only by his love of written words.”

“Could you bring back a man without a head?” Arya asked. “Just the once, not six times. Could you?”“I have no magic, child. Only prayers. That first time, his lordship had a hole right through him and blood in his mouth, I knew there was no hope. So when his poor torn chest stopped moving, I gave him the good god’s own kiss to send him on his way. I filled my mouth with fire and breathed the flames inside him, down his throat to lungs and heart and soul. The last kiss it is called, and many a time I saw the old priests bestow it on the Lord’s servants as they died. I had given it a time or two myself, as all priests must. But never before had I felt a dead man shudder as the fire filled him, nor seen his eyes come open. It was not me who raised him, my lady. It was the Lord. R’hllor is not done with him yet. Life is warmth, and warmth is fire, and fire is God’s and God’s alone.”Arya felt tears well in her eyes. Thoros used a lot of words, but all they meant was no, that much she understood.”

“Bones were bones; these days, nothing was easier to come by.”

“There's nothing half so mortal as a grey goose feather.”

“A grey man,” she said. “Neither white nor black, but partaking of both. Is that what you are, Ser Davos?”“What if I am? It seems to me that most men are grey.”“If half of an onion is black with rot, it is a rotten onion. A man is good, or he is evil.”

“As she watched him, this tall young man with the new beard and the direwolf prowling at his heels, all she could see was the babe they had laid at her breast at Riverrun, so long ago.”