Melisandre Quotes

‎[Melisandre] "His Grace is growing fond of you." [Jon] "I can tell. He only threatened to behead me twice." Page 58

Soon comes the cold, and the night that never ends.

The ruby at Melisandre's throat gleamed red. "It is not those foes who curse you to your face that you must fear, but those who smile when you are looking and sharpen their knives when you turn your back. You would do well to keep your wolf close beside you. Ice, I see, and daggers in the dark. Blood frozen red and hard, and naked steel. It was very cold." "It is always cold on the Wall." "You think so?" "I know so, my lady." "Then you know nothing, Jon Snow," she whispered.

She had no time for sleep, with the weight of the world upon her shoulders. And she feared to dream. Sleep is a little death, dreams the whisperings of the Other, who would drag us all into his eternal night.

Melisandre: I pray for a glimpse of Azor Ahai, and R'hllor shows me only snow.

Pyp had stabbed a turnip with his knife. "The night is dark and full of turnips," he announced in a solemn voice. "Let us all pray for venison, my children, with some onions and a bit of tasty gravy.

What do you know of my heart, priestess? What do you know of my sister?

That was a lesson Melisandre had learned long before Asshai; the more effortless the sorcery appears, the more men fear the sorcerer.

Now here is a riddle,” Melisandre said. “A clever fool and a foolish wise man.

Melisandre laughed again. “You are lost in darkness and confusion, Ser Davos.” “And a good thing.” Davos gestured at the distant lights flickering along the walls of Storm’s End. “Feel how cold the wind is? The guards will huddle close to those torches. A little warmth, a little light, they’re a comfort on a night like this. Yet that will blind them, so they will not see us pass.” I hope. “The god of darkness protect us now, my lady, Even you.

Where Melisandre thinks to find a sleeping dragon, no one is quite sure. It’s nonsense. Mance’s blood is no more royal than mine own.

It is night in your Seven Kingdoms now,' the red woman went on, 'but soon the sun will rise again. The war continues, Davos Seaworth, and some will soon learn that even an ember in the ashes can still ignite a great blaze. The old maester looked at Stannis and saw only a man. You see a king. You are both wrong. He is the Lord's chosen, the warrior of fire. I have seen him leading the fight against the dark, I have seen it in the flames. The flames do not lie, else you would not be here. It is written in prophecy as well. When the red star bleeds and the darkness gathers, Azor Ahai shall be born again amidst smoke and salt to wake dragons out of stone.

The night is dark and full of terrors...but the fire burns them all away." ―Melisandre

They need never know how difficult it had been, or how much it had cost her. That was a lesson Melisandre had learned long before Asshai; the more effortless the sorcery appears, the more men fear the sorcerer.

You esteem this Penrose more than you do my lords bannermen. Why?” “He keeps faith.” “A misplaced faith in a dead usurper.” “Yes,” Davos admitted, “but still, he keeps faith.” “As those behind us do not?” Davos had come too far with Stannis to play coy now. “Last year they were Robert’s men. A moon ago they were Renly’s. This morning they are yours. Whose will they be on the morrow?” And Stannis laughed. A sudden gust, rough and full of scorn. “I told you, Melisandre,” he said to the red woman, “my Onion Knight tells me the truth.” “I see you know him well, Your Grace,” the red woman said. “Davos, I have missed you sorely,” the king said. “Aye, I have a tail of traitors, your nose does not deceive you. My lords bannermen are inconstant even in their treasons. I need them, but you should know how it sickens me to pardon such as these when I have punished better men for lesser crimes. You have every right to reproach me, Ser Davos.” “You reproach yourself more than I ever could, Your Grace. You must have these great lords to win your throne—” “Fingers and all, it seems.” Stannis smiled grimly.

Melisandre gazed up at it, her breath a warm moist cloud in the air. “This is my place as it is yours, and soon enough you may have grave need of me. Do not refuse my friendship, Jon. I have seen you in the storm, hard-pressed, with enemies on every side. You have so many enemies. Shall I tell you their names?

Lady Melisandre would be lighting her nightfire and chanting, Lord of Light, defend us, for the night is dark and full of terrors. “Winter is coming,” Jon said

Some nights she drowsed, but never for more than an hour. One day, Melisandre prayed, she would not sleep at all. One day she would be free of dreams.

—LADY MELISANDRE OF ASSHAI,

She said sorcery is a sword without a hilt. There is no safe way to grasp it. A wise woman...A sword without a hilt is still a sword, though, and a sword is a fine thing to have when foes are all about.

You are wrong. I have dreamed of your Wall, Jon Snow. Great was the lore that raised it, and great the spells locked beneath its ice. We walk beneath one of the hinges of the world.” Melisandre gazed up at it, her breath a warm moist cloud in the air. “This is my place as it is yours, and soon enough you may have grave need of me. Do not refuse my friendship, Jon. I have seen you in the storm, hard-pressed, with enemies on every side. You have so many enemies. Shall I tell you their names?

Melisandre’s red lips curled into a smile. “I have seen you in my fires, Jon Snow.” “Is that a threat, my lady? Do you mean to burn me too?” “You mistake my meaning.” She gave him a searching look. “I fear that I make you uneasy, Lord Snow.” Jon did not deny it. “The Wall is no place for a woman.” “You are wrong. I have dreamed of your Wall, Jon Snow. Great was the lore that raised it, and great the spells locked beneath its ice. We walk beneath one of the hinges of the world.” Melisandre gazed up at it, her breath a warm moist cloud in the air. “This is my place as it is yours, and soon enough you may have grave need of me. Do not refuse my friendship, Jon. I have seen you in the storm, hard-pressed, with enemies on every side. You have so many enemies. Shall I tell you their names?” “I know their names.” “Do not be so certain.” The ruby at Melisandre’s throat gleamed red. “It is not the foes who curse you to your face that you must fear, but those who smile when you are looking and sharpen their knives when you turn your back. You would do well to keep your wolf close beside you. Ice, I see, and daggers in the dark. Blood frozen red and hard, and naked steel. It was very cold.” “It is always cold on the Wall.” “You think so?” “I know so, my lady.” “Then you know nothing, Jon Snow,” she whispered.

Tyrion, Jon, Dany, Stannis and Melisandre, Davos Seaworth, and all the rest of the characters you love or love to hate will be along next year (I devoutly hope) in A Dance with Dragons, which will focus on events along the Wall and across the sea, just as the present book focused on King’s Landing. —George R. R. Martin June 2005

Il meta-lupo non aveva risposte. Leccò il viso di Jon con la sua lingua umida e ruvida come una raspa. Gli occhi di Spettro intercettarono gli ultimi raggi del sole, scintillando come due enormi stelle colore del sangue. "Occhi rossi" notò Jon "ma diversi da quelli di Melisandre." Gli occhi di Spettro erano come quelli degli alberi-diga. "Occhi rossi, bocca rossa, pelliccia bianca. Sangue e ossa, come un albero-cuore. Spettro, tu appartieni agli antichi dèi." E di tutti i meta-lupo degli Stark, Spettro era l'unico con il pelo bianco. Avevano trovato sei cuccioli, lui e Robb, nella neve di fine estate. Cinque erano grigi, neri e marrone, per i cinque ragazzi Stark. L'ultimo era bianco. Come snow, neve. A quel punto, Jon Snow ebbe la sua risposta.

Melisandre burned the Horn of Joramun.” “Did she?” Tormund slapped his thigh and hooted. “She burned that fine big horn, aye. A bloody sin, I call it. A thousand years old, that was. We found it in a giant’s grave, and no man o’ us had ever seen a horn so big. That must have been why Mance got the notion to tell you it were Joramun’s. He wanted you crows to think he had it in his power to blow your bloody Wall down about your knees.

was a soldier’s tent of heavy canvas, dyed the dark yellow that sometimes passed for gold. Only the royal banner that streamed atop the center pole marked it as a king’s. That, and the guards without; queen’s men leaning on tall spears, with the badge of the fiery heart sewn over their own. Grooms came up to help them dismount. One of the guards relieved Melisandre of her cumbersome standard, driving the staff deep into the soft ground. Devan stood to one side of the door, waiting to lift the flap for

Roland sat beside his little sister. "You are too young to know this, but love cannot grow in rocky soil. It must be planted in a tender heart, cared for with the gentlest of touches, warmed with happiness. and protected from all that might wish to harm it." "That sounds like a lot of work," Melisandre said. "It is a lot of work. But if it's true love, then it will be the lightest burden you'll ever carry.

Visions danced before her, gold and scarlet, flickering, forming and melting and dissolving into one another, shapes strange and terrifying and seductive.

Snowflakes swirled from a dark sky and ashes rose to meet them, the grey and the white whirling around each other as flaming arrows arched above a wooden wall and dead things shambled silent through the cold, beneath a great grey cliff where fires burned inside a hundred caves. Then the wind rose and the white mist came sweeping in, impossibly cold, and one by one the fires went out. Afterward only the skulls remained.

Maester,” said Lady Melisandre, her deep voice flavored with the music of the Jade Sea. “You ought take more care.” As ever, she wore red head to heel, a long loose gown of flowing silk as bright as fire, with dagged sleeves and deep slashes in the bodice that showed glimpses of a darker bloodred fabric beneath. Around her throat was a red gold choker tighter than any maester’s chain, ornamented with a single great ruby. Her hair was not the orange or strawberry color of common red-haired men, but a deep burnished copper that shone in the light of the torches. Even her eyes were red … but her skin was smooth and white, unblemished, pale as cream. Slender she was, graceful, taller than most knights, with full breasts and narrow waist and a heart-shaped face. Men’s eyes that once found her did not quickly look away, not even a maester’s eyes. Many called her beautiful. She was not beautiful. She was red, and terrible, and red. “I … thank you, my lady.” “A man your age must look to where he steps,” Melisandre said courteously. “The night is dark and full of terrors.

Lord, cast your light upon us!” Melisandre called out. “For the night is dark and full of terrors,

The woman was the heart of it. Not the Lady Selyse, the other one. The red woman, the servants had named her, afraid to speak her name. “I will speak her name,” Cressen told his stone hellhound. “Melisandre. Her.” Melisandre of Asshai, sorceress, shadowbinder, and priestess to R’hllor, the Lord of Light, the Heart of Fire, the God of Flame and Shadow. Melisandre, whose madness must not be allowed to spread beyond Dragonstone.

A noite é escura e cheia de terrores, o dia luminoso, belo e cheio de esperança. Uma é negra, o outro é branco. Há gelo e fogo. Ódio e amor. Amargura e doçura. Macho e fêmea. Dor e prazer. Inverno e Verão. Mal e bem. Em toda a parte há opostos. Em todos a parte há a guerra.