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.”

They are boys drunk on song and story, and like all boys, they think themselves immortal.

The face of a drowned woman, Catelyn thought. Can you drown in grief?

She could smell out falsehood, she could, but she was dead, Father had killed her, on account of Arya.

This world is twisted beyond hope, when lowborn smugglers must vouch for the honor of kings.

The world had tightened around them, but beyond the walled wood still stood the great grey caves of man-rock. Winterfell, he remembered, the sound coming to him suddenly. Beyond its sky-tall man-cliffs the true world was calling, and he knew he must answer or die.

“The Watch needs good men,” he told them as they set out, “but you lot will have to do.”