Women," Mat declared as he rode Pips down the dusty, little-used road, "are like mules." He frowned. "Wait. No. Goats. Women are like goats. Except every flaming one thinks she's a horse instead, and a prize racing mare to boot. Do you understand me, Talmanes?" "Pure poetry, Mat," Talmanes said, tamping the tabac down into his pipe.

The corpse's hand reached up and grabbed Shaisam by the throat. He gasped, thrashing, as the corpse opened its eye. "There's an odd thing about disease I once heard, Fain," Matrim Cauthon whispered. "Once you catch a disease and survive, you can't get it again.

I do not like odd things until I can understand them.

Often you don't know whether a woman is friend, enemy or lover until it is too late. Sometimes, she is all three.

The best lie is often one too ridiculous to be taken for a lie.

Dovie'andi se tovya sagain (It's time to roll the dice) - Matrim Cauthon

Hammer the iron that lies on your anvil instead of daydreaming about working silver.