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Fire seared his marrow; acid rushed along his veins.
it was like picturing a wolf taking the cat’s place in front of a mouse hole.
as black as the loss of all hope.
“Care and a long life go together,
Anything can be a weapon, if the man or woman who holds it has the nerve and will to make it so.
There must be a difference in what you saw, it seemed to him, depending on whether you sought adventure or had it forced on you.
The only sound competing with the gleeman’s voice and harp was the crackling of the fires in the fireplaces.
we are the hare, and it is the hounds who dictate the chase.”
He believed it because he needed to believe.
One thing at a time, and the most important first.
the Aes Sedai’s voice was like a still pond that refused to ripple no matter how many stones Nynaeve threw;
The sun rose reluctantly, without warmth.
Elyas was out there, also, more dimly sensed, stalking the night with his long knife, a two-legged wolf with one sharp steel tooth.
Run, brother! He whirled to leap again, to soar one last time, and a lance pinned him to the earth.
geese waddled self-importantly across the road.
Caemlyn fit into those mind-deep pictures as water fits into a jug.
The Wheel of Time weaves the Pattern of the Ages, and lives are the threads it weaves.
He had sometimes thought of Moiraine as steel covered with velvet;
Dead, you can help no one, not the people who have helped you, not your friends and family back in the Two Rivers.
“I had not dreamed the decay had gone so far. If the bridges themselves are breaking, it may be that I cannot find the path you want. It may be that I cannot find a path back, either. The bridges could be falling behind us even now.”
That inflected tongue sounded like deep-voiced birds singing. It seemed odd to Rand that a people so big had such a musical language.
Egwene handed Loial a cup of tea. He held it without drinking, staring at it as if he could find the fruit trees in its depths.
It was easier to be brave, he discovered, when someone needed your protection.
Like a good host he asked gently probing questions designed to bring them out of their quiet.
Mountains of Dhoom.
Faugh!”
Mountains of Mist,
carried the dusty must of an old tomb newly opened.
will hate the man you choose because he is not me, and love him if he makes you smile.
