The Path of Daggers (The Wheel of Time, #8)

by Robert Jordan

Seventy-one years had passed since she had last made a serious mistake.

“The boy confuses them,” she said. “He needs to be strong, and makes himself harder. Too hard, already, and he will not stop until he is stopped. He has forgotten how to laugh except in bitterness; there are no tears left in him. Unless he finds laughter and tears again, the world faces disaster. He must learn that even the Dragon Reborn is flesh. If he goes to Tarmon Gai’don as he is, even his victory may be as dark as his defeat.”

Rand, wearing different masks, until suddenly one of those false faces was no longer a mask, but him. Perrin and a Tinker,

frenziedly hacking their way through brambles with axe and sword, unaware of the cliff that lay just ahead. And the brambles screamed with human voices they did not hear. Mat, weighing two Aes Sedai on a huge set of balance scales, and on his decision depended. . . . She could not say what; something vast; the world, perhaps.

Whether or not what you do has the effect you want, it will have three at least you never expected, and one of those usually unpleasant.

Most women will shrug off what a man would kill you for, and kill you for what a man would shrug off.