Quotes About Laughter

She remembered the godswood, drooping branches heavy with moisture, and the sound of her brother's laughter as he chased her through piles of damp leaves.

It was a time for warm embraces, for smiles, for toasts and reconciliations, for renewing old friendships and making new ones, for laughter and kisses. It was a good time, a golden autumn, a time of peace and plenty. But winter was coming.

She just laughed in his face and told him she'd sooner crawl in a bed with his father's leeches before she'd crawl in one with him. She stopped laughing when he put his knife in her.

Tyrion looked pointedly at his right hand. "Why, I have steel in my hand, Ser Allister, although it appears to be a crab fork. Shall we duel?" He hopped up on his chair and began poking at Thorne's chest with the tiny fork. Roars of laughter filled the tower room. Bits of crab flew from the Lord Commander's mouth as he began to gasp and choke. Even his raven joined in, cawing loudly from above the window. "Duel! Duel! Duel!

I remember a man throwing me in the air when I was very little. He stands as tall as the sky, and he throws me up so high it feels as though I'm flying. We're both laughing, laughing so much that I could hardly catch a breath, and finally I laugh so hard I wet myself, but that only makes him laugh the louder. I was never afraid when he was throwing me. I knew that he would always be there to catch me.

Quentyn Martell almost laughed aloud. The gods are mad.

Once I dreamed of flying, she thought, and now I've flown, and dream of stealing eggs. That made her laugh. "Men are mad and gods are madder" she told the grass, and the grass murmured its agreement.

They bought clams and cockles from her, told her true tales of Braavos and lies about their lives, and laughed at the way she talked when she tried to speak Braavosi.

A fish on a leash, he said, chortling. There's a sight I never saw before.

Aren't you afraid? The gods might send you down to some terrible hell for all the evil you've done." "What evil?" He laughed. "What gods?

That made her laugh until she screamed. "Mad," someone said, "she's lost her wits," and someone else said, "Make an end," and a hand grabbed her scalp just as she'd done with Jinglebell, and she thought, No, don't, don't cut my hair, Ned loves my hair. Then the steel was at her throat, and its bite was red and cold.

I want her, he realized. I want Winterfell, yes, but I want her as well, child or woman or whatever she is. I want to comfort her. I want to hear her laugh. I want her to come to me willingly, to bring me her joys and her sorrows and her lust. His mouth twisted in a bitter smile. Yes, and I want to be tall as Jaime and as strong as Ser Gregor the Mountain too, for all the bloody good it does.

No doubt he was smiling. He smiled a lot, as if the world were a secret joke that only he was clever enough to understand.

When the spirit stepped out of the open tomb, pale white and moaning for blood, Sansa ran shrieking for the stairs, and Bran wrapped himself around Robb's leg, sobbing. Arya stood her ground and gave the spirit a punch. It was only Jon, covered with flour. "You stupid," she told him, "you scared the baby," but Jon and Robb just laughed and laughed, and pretty soon Bran and Arya were laughing too.

Ser Alliser Thorne was the only man at table who did not so much as crack a smile. "Lannister mocks us." "Only you, Ser Alliser," Tyrion said. This time the laughter round the table had a nervous, uncertain quality to it.

Sam handed back the sword. "When I try to swat a bug, it always flies away. All I do is slap my arm. It stings." That made Jon laugh.

He smiled a lot, as if the world were a secret joke that only he was clever enough to understand.

As angry as he was, his father could not help but laugh. 'You're not my son,' he told Bran when they fetched him down, 'you're a squirrel. So be it. If you must climb, then climb, but try not to let your mother see you.

They had well-fed faces and laughter that was made cruel by its context the way a gem could be made ugly by being set in tin.

Tienes el don de hacer reír a los hombres- dijo la septa Lemore a Tyrion mientras secaba los dedos de sus pies. -Deberías estar agradecido al Padre de arriba. Otorga dones a sus hijos. -Es cierto- asintió gratamente. "Y cuando muera, por favor que entierren conmigo una ballesta, así podré agradecer al Padre de arriba por sus dones de la misma manera que agradecí al padre de abajo".

When the three of them stepped off the ferry on the north bank, a drunken camp follower offered to pleasure Strongboar with her mouth. "Here, pleasure my friend," Ser Lyle said, shoving her toward Ser Ilyn. Laughing, the woman moved to kiss Payne on the lips, then saw his eyes and shrank away.

He dipped the quill into the inkpot, leaned over the first parchment, paused, looked up. "Would you prefer me to sign Yollo or Hugor Hill ?" Brown Ben crinkled up his eyes. "Would you prefer to be returned to Yezzan's heirs or just beheaded?" The dwarf laughed and signed the parchment, Tyrion of House Lannister.

The young man who has not wept is a savage, and the old man who will not laugh is a fool.

Those were the two prerequisites, in my conception, to perfect friendship: capacity to worship and capacity to laugh. Modern life is not made for friendship: common interests are not strong enough, private interests too absorbing. In each person I catch the fleeting suggestion of something beautiful and swear eternal friendship with that.