“Too many of us take great pains with what we ingest through our mouths, and far less with what we partake of through our ears and eyes.”

More fun than a frog in a glass of milk.

Life before Death. Strength before Weakness. Journey before Destination.

I might really have gone round the bend. I mean people who get visions and see a gigantic light descend on them from the sky can’t be all there but if so I feel mighty happy. If one is happy and cracked it’s much better than being unhappy and sane.

Perhaps another person, reading of my life, would name me a religious tyrant. He could call me arrogant. What is to make that man’s opinion any less valid than my own? I guess it all comes down to one fact: In the end, I’m the one with the armies.

What is it we value? Innovation. Originality. Novelty. But most importantly…timeliness. I fear you may be too late, my confused, unfortunate, friend.

This makes readers feel hurt and worried for the characters. The simple truth is that authors like making people squirm. If this weren’t the case, all novels would be filled completely with cute bunnies having birthday parties.

In the end, I worry that my arrogance shall destroy us all.

The man who spent his youth being shoved around, however … When that man gets a little power and authority, he often uses it to become a tyrant on par with the worst warlords in history.

That hat looks ridiculous.” “Fortunately, I can change hats,” Wayne said, “while you, sir, are stuck with that face.

I want you to go back into the barrack and tell the men to come out after the storm. Tell them to look up at me tied here. Tell them I’ll open my eyes and look back at them, and they’ll know hat I survived.

There are no endings, and never will be endings, to the turning of the Wheel of Time. But it was an ending.

A man can only lead when others accept him as their leader, and he has only as much authority as his subjects give to him. All of the brilliant ideas in the world cannot save your kingdom if no one will listen to them.

The motivations of men. They never make sense. And they always make sense.

Raoden looked up at his friend. “We’re not dead, Galladon, and we’re not damned. We’re just unfinished.

I am what the universe made me to be, my dear.

All right,” Spook said. He reached to the ground, scooping up a pile of ash. “Let’s just rub this into your clothing and on your face….” Breeze froze. “I’ll meet you back ath the lair,” he finally said.

Art speaks to me through you but words have no ears.

I don’t make music for eyes. I make music for ears.

No music is so charming to my ear as the requests of my friends, and the supplications of those in want of my assistance.

Our only limitation is that we only believe what is visible to our eyes and audible to our ears.

It is difficult to argue with the belly, for it has no ears.

Eyes are more accurate witnesses than ears.

As long as my music is real, it’s no limit to how many ears I can grab.

Eyes and ears are bad witnesses to men having barbarian souls.