Frankly Frankie

have you ever been so mad that your tragically doomed unrequited knightly crush got himself killed and the army is marching this way carrying his head like an ignoble banner and you would like to kill some people about that but you can't right now because you are severely outnumbered (again) and cornered in a walled market town that is not prepared to withstand a siege and also there are dragons and your horrible smug cousin is acting like this is all going to plan but you suspect you've just bounced from one suicide mission to another one with more steps except this time your nephew is caught in the trap too and he keeps looking at you with your sisters big sad eyes like he's asking you to DO SOMETHING but you can't actually do anything so you dismount your horse so hard you kick the sun (the fucking Dornish sun)

they're everything I never knew I wanted

THE ARTIST

you can't come back from the war. no one ever actually comes back from the war. if you come back from the war, the things you have seen and done will make you a permanent stranger to your former society and home

and

civilization is a social contract and we have broken it so grievously in the blind pursuit of wealth and power that we have plunged ourselves into a dark age (now is the time of monsters)