Robert Jordan

Your body is only clothing. Your flesh will wither, but you are your heart and mind, and they do not change except to grow stronger.”

“I don’t bloody care about your bargains with anybody else, you daughter of the sands,” Mat snapped. So his irritation was not that well under control. A man could only take so much.

Birgitte gave Elayne a fond look, but it was to Mat she spoke. “I will,” she said. “Honor’s truth.”

Mat tugged at his coat uncomfortably. He still was not sure how much he had told her while drunk. Light, but the woman could soak it up like dry sand. Even so, he gave the proper response for a Barashandan lord, accepting her pledge. “The honor of blood; the truth of blood.”

“Take care of yourselves, and look sharp,” he said. “You know what’s out there. There’s a storm coming.” Now why had he said that? “Move. We’re wasting light.”

The secret, it turned out, had not been to harden himself to the point of breaking. It had not been to become numb. It had been to walk in pain, like the pain of the wounds at his side, and accept that pain as part of him.

Ages come and pass, leaving memories that become legend. Legend fades to myth, and even myth is long forgotten when the Age that gave it birth comes again

What can’t be changed must be endured.

Now and then you have to waste time to save it

Mother’s milk in a cup!” Elayne snapped

May the Light illumine you and see you prosper. Your coming gladdens every heart in Far Madding.