“There are worse things than dying with a song on your lips.”

“There are worse ways to die than warm and drunk. I knew a brother drowned himself in wine once. It was a poor vintage, though, and his corpse did not improve it.”

“Your lips were made for kissing.They are lips. All lips are the same.And all lips are made for kissing.”

“Sing a song if you like.” “Aloud?”“In your head.”

“Life is not a song, sweetling.Someday you may learn that, to your sorrow.”

“Fighting is better than this waiting,” Brienne said. “You don’t feel so helpless when you fight. You have a sword and a horse, sometimes an axe. When you’re armored it’s hard for anyone to hurt you.”“Knights die in battle,” Catelyn reminded her.Brienne looked at her with those blue and beautiful eyes. “As ladies die in childbed. No one sings songs about them.”

“The singers make much of kings who valiantly die in battle, but your life is worth more than a sword. To me at least, who gave it to you.”