The Path of Daggers

The Wheel of Time turns, and Ages come and pass, leaving memories that become legend. Legend fades to myth, and even myth is long forgotten when the Age that gave it birth comes again. In one Age, called the Third Age by some, an Age yet to come, an Age long past, a wind rose above the great mountainous island of Tremalking. The wind was not the beginning. There are neither beginnings nor endings to the Wheel of Time. But it was a beginning.

On the heights, all paths are paved with daggers.

Sometimes six and six make a dozen, and sometimes they make a mess

Do you believe a man must be hard?” she asked. She was taking a chance. “Or strong?” By her tone, she left no doubt she saw a difference. Again Sorilea touched the tray; the smallest of smiles might have quirked her lips for an instant. Or not. “Most men see the two as one and the same, Cadsuane Melaidhrin. Strong endures; hard shatters.” Cadsuane drew breath. A chance she would have scoured anyone else for taking. But she was not anyone else, and sometimes chances had to be taken. “The boy confuses them,” she said. “He needs to be strong, and makes himself harder. Too hard, already, and he will not stop until he is stopped. He has forgotten how to laugh except in bitterness; there are no tears left in him. Unless he finds laughter and tears again, the world faces disaster. He must learn that even the Dragon Reborn is flesh. If he goes to Tarmon Gai’don as he is, even his victory may be as dark as his defeat.

Who would sup with the mighty must climb the path of daggers. -Anonymous notation found inked in the margin of a manuscript history (believed to date to the time of Arthur Hawkwing) of the last days of the Tovan Conclaves

Nothing makes Semirhage weep. She gives tears to others, but she has none herself.

Facing them (men) with knives and spears was much easier than loving them, much easier.

How do you know when a woman wants to kill you?” Rand mused. “When she knows your name?” Dobraine did not sound as if he were joking.

Scuffing her bare feet into slippers, she shrugged into a silk robe, then hesitated, looking down at Perrin. He would be able to see her clearly, if he woke, but to her, he was just a shadowed mound. She wished her mother were there, now, to advise her. She loved Perrin with every fiber of her being, and he confused every fiber. Actually understanding men was impossible, of course, but he was so unlike anyone she had grown up with. He never swaggered, and instead of laughing at himself, he was... modest. She had not believed a man could be modest! He insisted that only chance had made him a leader, claimed he did not know how to lead, when men who met him were ready to follow after an hour. He dismissed his own thinking as slow, when those slow, considering thoughts saw so deeply that she had to dance a merry jig to keep any secrets at all. He was a wonderful man, her curly-haired wolf. So strong. And so gentle.

You got further plucking the chicken in front of you than trying to start on one up a tree. Especially when the tree was in another country and there might not even be another chicken.

No plan of battle survives first contact,

Kittens tangle your yarn, men tangle your wits, and it's simple as breathing for both.

what you gain on the swings, you lose on the roundabouts.

Quite often, when a woman was agitated, she tried to soothe others whether they required soothing or not.

It’s one of the things men are for, taking the blame. They usually deserve it, even if you don’t know exactly how.

Perrin suspected Lini was one of those women who saw her “place” as being in charge. Come to think of it, most women did. That was the way of the world, it seemed, not just the Two Rivers.

All things change. Until we wake, the dream drifts on the wind.

Whether or not what you do has the effect you want, it will have three at least you never expected, and one of those usually unpleasant.

You can ask or demand anything of me, but never to let you die without trying to save you. The day you die, I die.

He has forgotten how to laugh except in bitterness; there are no tears left in him. Unless he finds laughter and tears again, the world faces disaster. He

Peel the apple in your hand, girl, not the one on the tree, Lini’s thin voice seemed to whisper in her ear. Tears are for after; they just waste time before.

When a woman plays the fool, look for the man.

Sometimes, it was difficult to tell Nynaeve leading from Nynaeve bullying.

people with devious minds saw calculation in his honesty.

She saw some boulders she would have wagered had once been toes on a statue, though why anyone would make a statue that large with bare feet she could not imagine, and another time the way led through a forest of thick fluted stones among the trees, the weathered stumps of columns, many toppled and all long since mined almost to the ground for their stone by local farmers. A pleasant

He's not a total idiot. In fact, he has a good head on his shoulders. He thinks like a woman, most of the time.

Who knows a woman's heart? Most women will shrug off what a man would kill you for, and kill you for what a man would shrug off.

a man needed all of his wits dealing with a woman. Too often even that was not enough;