A Song of Ice and Fire. Book 2. A Clash of Kings

With two eyes you see my face. With three you could see my heart. With two you can see that oak tree there. With three you could see the acorn the oak grew from and the stump that it will one day become. With two you see no farther than your walls. With three you would gaze south to the Summer Sea and north beyond the Wall.”

When a pirate grows rich enough, they make him a prince.

“A tourney,” Hal Mollen declared. He had a penchant for loudly announcing the obvious.

“That man said he’d take your head too.”
“Well, as to that,” Yoren said, “if he can get it off my shoulders, he’s welcome to it.”

“In ancient books of Asshai it is written that there will come a day after a long summer when the stars bleed and the cold breath of darkness falls heavy on the world. In this dread hour a warrior shall draw from the fire a burning sword. And that sword shall be Lightbringer, the Red Sword of Heroes, and he who clasps it shall be Azor Ahai come again, and the darkness shall flee before him.”

If half of an onion is black with rot, it is a rotten onion. A man is good, or he is evil.

The flames do not lie, Davos.”

Yet they require me to make them true, he thought.

He brought his doom on himself with his treason, but I did love him, Davos. I know that now. I swear, I will go to my grave thinking of my brother’s peach.

Pardoned them, yes. Forgiven. But not forgotten.

“I am their rightful queen,” Dany protested.

“You are a stranger who means to land on their shores with an army of outlanders who cannot even speak the Common Tongue. The lords of Westeros do not know you, and have every reason to fear and mistrust you. You must win them over before you sail. A few at least.”