If you have a sword, and the Aielman has his bare hands, it is an even fight. If you're good.

But men often mistake killing and revenge for justice. They seldom have the stomach for justice.

We should ask our commanders..." Elayne trailed off. "If there are any we trust not to be under Compulsion." "There's only one," Mat said grimly, meeting her eyes. "And he's telling you we are finished if we continue as we have. The earlier plan was a good enough one, but after what we lost today...Elayne, we're dead unless we choose one place to stand, gather together, and fight." One last toss of the dice.

Duty is heavy as a mountain, death is light as a feather.

It's not evil, Rand. I know something evil when I smell it. This isn't evil, it's just incredibly stupid.

She understood his eyes, colder than winter's heart. A man who knew he was dead and couldn't make himself care; you are spared that. Mashiara. His lost love.

As the Wheel of Time turns, places wear many names. Men wear many names, many faces. Different faces, but always the same man. Yet no one knows the Great Pattern the Wheel weaves, or even the Pattern of an Age. We can only watch, and study, and hope.