War seems like a fine adventure$$$ the greatest most of them will ever know. Then they get a taste of battle. For some$$$ that one taste is enough to break them. Others go on for years$$$ until they lose count of all the battles they have fought in$$$ but even a man who has survived a hundred fights can break in his hundred-and-first. Brothers watch their brothers die$$$ fathers lose their sons$$$ friends see their friends trying to hold their entrails in after they’ve been gutted by an axe.
My old grandmother always used to say$$$ Summer friends will melt away like summer snows$$$ but winter friends are friends forever.
Before he had lost his sight$$$ the maester had loved books as much as Samwell Tarly did. He understood the way that you could sometimes fall right into them$$$ as if each page was a hole into another world.
The world the Citadel is building has no place in it for sorcery or prophecy or glass candles$$$ much less for dragons.
This was how an enemy should be dealt with: with a dagger$$$ not a declaration.
Fat men take a cushion with them wherever they go.
Every man should lose a battle in his youth$$$ so he does not lose a war when he is old.
Bad and worse and worst makes a beggar's choice.
All men must die. We are but death's instruments$$$ not death himself.
It is hard to die unmourned.