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.

It’s one of the things men are for, taking the blame, she remembered Lini saying once, and laughing while she did. They usually deserve it, even if you don’t know exactly how.

What you order done, you must be willing to do with your own hand. As a queen, what you order done, you have done.

Even a queen cannot be above the law, or there is no law.

You can do whatever you wish, child. So long as you’re willin...

“We both have weakness in us,” she whispered, “but it brings no shame so long as only we two know.”

You hammered the iron that lay on your anvil instead of daydreaming about working silver.

“Don’t pretend to be dense. I won’t believe it in you for a moment. I can see you have more wits than most men. That’s the worst habit you men have, making believe you don’t see what’s plain under your noses.”

Perrin suspected Lini was one of those women who saw her “place” as being in charge. Come to think of it, most women did. That was the way of the world, it seemed, not just the Two Rivers.

You could not train men to be weapons without expecting a certain amount of arrogance,

Fedwin Morr wore intensity more closely than his shirt; he moved on his toes, and his eyes had the look of a hunting cat that knew itself hunted in turn.

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.

Be sure of yourself, girl, Lini had always told her, but not too sure, and she did try.

Rand had noticed that about women. Quite often, when a woman was agitated, she tried to soothe others whether they required soothing or not.

Who knows a woman’s heart?

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

If you won’t be satisfied with a whole litter of fat piglets, he had muttered, if you have to rush into the woods to find the old sow, then don’t get too fancy, or she’ll gut you.

Being in love with a man seemed to consist largely of a great many irritating admissions to yourself!

“Min, I thought I was the whole pack of hounds, chasing down one wolf after another, but it seems I’m the wolf.”

“I don’t have time for tears, either, Min,” he said gently. “Sometimes, the hounds catch the wolf and wish they hadn’t. Sometimes, he turns on them, or waits in ambush. But first, the wolf has to run.”

Somehow, it seemed that the more he learned about women, the less he knew!