“The sea is never weary. I must be as tireless.”

“As she slept amidst the rolling grasslands, Catelyn dreamt that Bran was shole again, that Arya and Sansa held hands, that Rickon was still a babe at her breast. Robb, crownless, played with a wooden sword, and when all were safe asleep, she found Ned in her bed, smiling.Sweet it was, sweet and gone too soon. Dawn came cruel, a dagger of light. She woke aching and alone and weary; weary of riding, weary of hurting, weary of duty. I want to weep, she thought, I want to be comforted. I'm so tired of being strong. I want to be foolish and frightened for once. Just for a small while, that's all . . . a day . . . an hour . . .”

“Stone, I must be stone, I must be Casterly Rock, hard and unmovable.”

“She did not come to him, however. She has never come to me, he tough. She has always waited, letting me come to her. She gives, but I must ask.”

“The sea is colder than a maiden and crueler than a whore.”

“I must show no fear, no weakness, no doubt.”

“I must not sleep. If he slept, he might dream.”