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

by Robert Jordan

Death was nothing to fear—everyone died, today or on another—but she did not want to die like a rabbit kicking in a snare. She had toh to meet.

None of this would have happened had Nynaeve been where she was meant to be. At least, Elayne was sure that Nynaeve could have quelled the Knitting Circle and the sisters both, in short order. She was a great one for quelling.

“The Asha’man are a weapon to be aimed where I say, not to flutter around like hens every time Taim gets frightened over a handful of Aes Sedai having dinner at the same inn.

Pity weakened as surely as fear, and they had to be strong. To face what they had to face, they all must be steel.

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.

You got further plucking the chicken in front of you than trying to start on one up a tree. Especially when the tree was in another country and there might not even be another chicken.

When you die, people begin to forget, who you were and what you did, or tried to do. Everybody dies eventually, and everybody is forgotten, eventually, but there’s no bloody point dying before your time comes.”

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

“Let someone know you need them, Min, and they have a hold on you. A leash, to pull you where they want.