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Life is a dream—that knows no shade. Life is a dream—of pain and woe. A dream from which—we pray to wake. A dream from which—we wake and go. Who would sleep—when the new dawn waits? Who would sleep—when the sweet winds blow? A dream must end—when the new day comes. This dream from which—we wake and go.
I have to keep my promises, you see. Have to, no matter how it hurts. But I have to keep my promise to myself, too. No matter how it hurts.”
Married life taught a man about women; or about one woman, anyway.
To trust was to be betrayed; trust was pain.
The past was past; what was now, was, and must be accepted. Anything else only brought greater pain.
A wise man did not tell his wife to her face that she was hiding things.
“You might as well reconcile yourself, Lan Mandragoran. My heart belongs to you, and you’ve admitted yours belongs to me. You belong to me, and I will not let you go. You will be my Warder, and my husband, and for a very long time. I will not let you die. Do you understand that? I can be as stubborn as I have to be.”
“Don’t ever whine, Rand; you are no good at it.
!!
Usually when a woman was in the wrong, she could find so many things to blame on the nearest man that he wound up thinking maybe he really was at fault.
“Oh, sheep swallop! Sheep swallop and bloody buttered onions!”
One fact, though, turned up again and again in those tales. The Laurel Crown of Illian had been given a new name. The Crown of Swords.
