If wishes had wings, sheep would fly.

Women often seemed to leave things unsaid, and in his limited experience it was what they did not say that proved the most trouble.

Dance with her, and she will forgive much. Dance well, and she will forgive anything.

The rose petal floats on water. The kingfisher flashes above the pond. Life and beauty swirl in the midst of death.

If you ask the lion to protect from from wolves, you have only chosen to end in one belly instead of another.

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 in the Mountains of Mist. The wind was not the beginning. There are neither beginnings nor endings to the turning of the Wheel of Time. But it was a beginning.

The people seemed nearly ostentatious about minding their own business.