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

by Robert Jordan

Who would sup with the mighty must climb the path of daggers.

On the heights, all paths are paved with daggers. —Old Seanchan saying

He called himself Moridin, and surely no one had ever had more right to name himself Death.

Some looked to a hill where a massive stone hand rose from the earth, holding a clear crystal sphere larger than many houses.

“Besides, caring for you is my heart’s desire, Nynaeve. You can ask or demand anything of me, but never to let you die without trying to save you. The day you die, I die.”

Once, there was a soldier loved a queen from afar, knowing it was hopeless, knowing he could never dare speak. Now the queen is gone, and only a woman remains, and I hope. I burn with hope!

No, she isn’t an adder; what she is is a leopard, I’ll wager. Don’t growl, burn you! I’ll bet my boots she’d smile to hear me say it!”

Strong endures; hard shatters.”

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.”

I harvested that blackberry bush myself. A small bush, and thorny, but a surprising number of berries for the size.

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.

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.

The Oaths hold us together, a stated set of beliefs that bind us all, a single thread running through every sister, living or dead, back to the first to lay her hands on the Oath Rod. They are what make us Aes Sedai, not saidar. Any wilder can channel. Men may look at what we say from six sides, but when a sister says, ‘This is so,’ they know it’s true, and they trust. Because of the Oaths.

The important thing was that the man made weapons. The important thing was that the weapons stayed sane long enough to be used.

It was almost a pity he was not stupid enough to do something that would get him executed.

Kill the whole world, Lews Therin laughed, a moan of derision. Of despair. I killed the world, and you can, too, if you try hard.

a woman would kill you twice as fast as a man, and usually for half the reason!

The dead watch, Lews Therin whispered. The dead never close their eyes.

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

Madness waits for some, Lews Therin whispered. It creeps up on others.

“I am the storm,” he whispered—a shout in his ears, a roar—and he channeled.

The only safe way for you to use The Sword That Is Not a Sword, the only way to use it without the risk of killing yourself, or trying to do the Light alone knows what insanity, is linked with two women, and one of them guiding the flows.”

He seemed to hear another woman’s voice, a dead woman’s voice. You could challenge the Creator.

To destroy, or be destroyed, Lews Therin laughed. When that’s your choice, is there a difference?

Trust was a knife, and the hilt was as sharp as the blade.