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Sleep is a little death, dreams the whisperings of the Other, who would drag us all into his eternal night.

Melisandre, ADWD

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The flames crackled softly, and in their crackling she heard the whispered name Jon Snow. His long face floated before her, limned in tongues of red and orange, appearing and disappearing again, a shadow half-seen behind a fluttering curtain. Now he was a man, now a wolf, now a man again. But the skulls were here as well, the skulls were all around him. Melisandre had seen his danger before, had tried to warn the boy of it. Enemies all around him, daggers in the dark. He would not listen.

Unbelievers never listened until it was too late.

Melisandre POV, ADWD.

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A face took shape within the hearth. Stannis? she thought, for just a moment... but no, these were not his features. A wooden face, corpse white. Was this the enemy? A thousand red eyes floated in the rising flames. He sees me. Beside him, a boy with a wolf’s face threw back his head and howled.

...beyond the Wall, the enemy grows stronger, and should he win the dawn will never come again. She wondered if it had been his face she had seen, staring out at her from the flames. No. Surely not. His visage would be more frightening than that, cold and black and too terrible for any man to gaze upon and live. The wooden man she had glimpsed, though, and the boy with the wolf’s face... they were his servants, surely... his champions, as Stannis was hers.

-Melisandre POV, ADWD.

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Visions danced before her, gold and scarlet, flickering, forming and melting and dissolving into one another, shapes strange and terrifying and seductive. She saw the eyeless faces again, staring out at her from sockets weeping blood. Then the towers by the sea, crumbling as the dark tide came sweeping over them, rising from the depths. Shadows in the shape of skulls, skulls that turned to mist, bodies locked together in lust, writhing and rolling and clawing. Through curtains of fire great winged shadows wheeled against a hard blue sky. 

-Melisandre POV, ADWD.

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When your dragons were small they were a wonder. Grown, they are death and devastation, a flaming sword above the world.

Xaro Xhoan Daxos, ADWD

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Do you know the tale of the forging of Lightbringer? I shall tell it to you. It was a time when darkness lay heavy on the world. To oppose it, the hero must have a hero's blade, oh, like none that had ever been. And so for thirty days and thirty nights, Azor Ahai labored sleepless in the temple, forging a blade in the sacred fires. Heat and hammer and fold, heat and hammer and fold, oh yes, until the sword was done. Yet when he plunged it into water to temper the steel it burst asunder. Being a hero, it was not for him to shrug and go in search of excellent grapes such as these, so again he began. The second time it took him fifty days and fifty nights, and this sword seemed even finer than the first. Azor Ahai captured a lion, to temper the blade by plunging it through the beast's red heart, but once more the steel shattered and split. Great was his woe and great was his sorrow then, for he knew what he must do. A hundred days and a hundred nights he labored on the third blade, and as it glowed white hot in the sacred fires, he summoned his wife. 'Nissa Nissa,' he said to her, for that was her name, 'bare your breast, and know that I love you best of all that is in this world.' She did this thing, why I cannot say, and Azor Ahai thrust the smoking sword through her living heart. It is said that her cry of anguish and ecstasy left a crack across the face of the moon, but her blood and her soul and her strength and her courage all went into the steel. Such is the tale of the forging of Lightbringer, the Red Sword of Heroes.

Salladhor Saan, A Clash of Kings

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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.

Melisandre, A Clash of Kings

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Daenerys Targaryen - Game Of Thrones Season Two

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Forget about the bloody gods and listen to what I’m telling you.

Character you wish made it to Season 8: Margaery Tyrell

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The High Septon once told me that as we sin, so do we suffer. If that's true, Lord Eddard, tell me... why is it always the innocents who suffer most, when you high lords play your game of thrones?

Varys, AGoT

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"Go ahead, call me all the names you want," Sansa said airily. "You won't dare when I'm married to Joffrey. You'll have to bow to me and call me Your Grace." She shrieked as Arya flung the orange across the table. It caught her in the middle of the forehead with a wet squish and plopped down into her lap.

"You have juice on your face, Your Grace," Arya said.

-Sansa, AGoT

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When the snows fall and the white winds blow, the lone wolf dies, but the pack survives.

Eddard Stark, AGoT

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The memory of her laughter warmed him on the long ride north.

-Jon, about Arya. AGoT

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A ruler who hides behind paid executioners soon forgets what death is.

Lord Eddard Stark, AGoT

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...our way is the older way. The blood of the First Men still flows in the veins of the Starks, and we hold to the belief that the man who passes the sentence should swing the sword. If you would take a man's life, you owe it to him to look into his eyes and hear his final words. And if you cannot bear to do that, then perhaps the man does not deserve to die.

Lord Eddard Stark, AGoT

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Bran thought about it. "Can a man still be brave if he's afraid?"

"That is the only time a man can be brave," his father told him.

-AGoT

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I'm back on my bullshit!!! Rereading the series so this blog is officially alive again:)