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Schemes are like fruit, they require a certain ripening.
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It all goes back and back, to our mothers and fathers and theirs before them. We are puppets dancing on the strings of those who came before us, and one day our own children will take up our strings and dance in our steads.
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Rebellion makes for queer bedfellows.
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When winter comes, the realm will starve.
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The Art of War
Gold has its uses, but wars are won with iron.
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I sit a chair better than a horse, and I’d sooner hold a wine goblet than a battle-axe. All that about the thunder of the drums, sunlight flashing on armor, magnificent destriers snorting and prancing? Well, the drums gave me headaches, the sunlight flashing on my armor cooked me up like a harvest day goose, and those magnificent destriers shit everywhere.
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How many Dornishmen does it take to start a war? Only one.
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Knights know only one way to solve a problem. They couch their lances and charge. A dwarf has a different way of looking at the world.
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He’s going to be as useful as nipples on a breastplate.
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If a man paints a target on his chest, he should expect that sooner or later someone will loose an arrow at him.
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A sword through the bowels.
A sure cure for constipation.
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Men fight more fiercely for a king who shares their peril than one who hides behind his mother’s skirts.
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That was the way of war. The smallfolk were slaughtered, while highborn were held for ransom.
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The Art of Saving Your Skin
Courage and folly are cousins, or so I’ve heard.
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I’m terrified of my enemies, so I kill them all.
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All this mistrust will sour your stomach and keep you awake at night, ’tis true, but better that than the long sleep that does not end.
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I decline to deliver any message that might get me killed.
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Riding hard and fast by night is a sure way to tumble down a mountain and crack your skull.
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The Art of Lying
Give me sweet lies, and keep your bitter truths.
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How did I lose my nose? I shoved it up your wife’s cunt and she bit it off.
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Half-truths are worth more than outright lies.
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My father threw me down a well the day I was born, but I was so ugly that the water witch who lived down there spat me back.
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The best lies are seasoned with a bit of truth.
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My mother loved me best of all her children because I was so small. She nursed me at her breast till I was seven. That made my brothers jealous, so they stuffed me in a sack and sold me to a mummer’s troupe. When I tried to run off the master mummer cut off half my nose, so I had no choice but to go with them and learn to be amusing.
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The sow I ride is actually my sister. We have the same nose, could you tell? A wizard cast a spell on her, but if you give her a big wet kiss, she’ll turn into a beautiful woman. The pity is, once you get to know her, you’ll want to kiss her again to turn her back.
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Every touch a lie. I have paid her so much false coin that she half thinks she’s rich.
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You’d be astonished at what a boy can make of a few lies, fifty pieces of silver, and a drunken septon.
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On Dragons and Other Myths
I believe in steel swords, gold coins, and men’s wits. And I believe there once were dragons.
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What if we should find that this talk of dragons was just some sailor’s drunken fancy? This wide world is full of such mad tales. Grumkins and snarks, ghosts and ghouls, mermaids, rock goblins, winged horses, winged pigs, winged lions.
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Next you will be offering me a suit of magic armor and a palace in Valyria.
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Even a stunted, twisted, ugly little boy can look down over the world when he’s seated on a dragon’s back.
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