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.

You read too much and understand too little.

Pessimism, she is a fond friend of yours, yes?" - That's uncalled for. I barely know her. Mere acquaintances, at best.

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

Rand, maybe that's the answer they give to everybody. Those snake people, I mean. Got to Rhuidean. Maybe we don't have to be here at all.' He did not believe it, but with that fog staring him in the face. ... Rand turned his head to look at him, not speaking. Finally he said, 'They never mentioned Rhuidean to me, Mat.' 'Oh, burn me,' he muttered.

It was easier to be brave when someone needed your protection.

A flapping tongue has killed more men than sudden storms ever did.