In a cruel land, you either learned to laugh at cruelty or spent your life weeping.

Yes...how else could Demandred explain the skill of the enemy general? Only a man with the experience of an ancient was so masterly at the dance of battlefields. At their core, many battle tactics were simple. Avoid being flanked, meet heavy force with pikes, infantry with a well-trained line, channelers with other channelers. And yet, the finesse of it...the little details...these took centuries to master. No man from this Age had lived long enough to learn the details with such care.

Demandred blocked Lan's attack but he breathed hoarsely. "Who are you?" Demandred whispered again. "No one of this Age has such skill. Asmodean? No, no. He couldn't have fought me like this. Lews Therin? It is you behind that face, isn't it?" "I am just a man," Lan whispered. "That is all I have ever been.

Do not trouble trouble till trouble troubles you.

We rode on the winds of the rising storm, We ran to the sounds of the thunder. We danced among the lightning bolts, and tore the world asunder.

Strange clothes you wear, Child of the Dragon. Has the Wheel turned so far? Do the People of the Dragon return to the first Covenant? But you wear a sword. That is neither now nor then.

Anyone who claimed that old age had brought them patience was either lying or senile.