I killed your High Sparrow and all his little sparrows. All his septons, all his septas, all his filthy soldiers, because it felt good to watch them burn
You're not in your sanctuary now, my dear. All I have to do is whistle and my men will stroll in here and bash you about until I tell them to stop
For years I pretended to love the poor, the afflicted. I had pity for them, but I never loved them. They disgusted me
If you're half as bright as you think you are, you'll find a way out of here, too