I wonder if, Nynaeve said, we sometimes put the White Tower —as an institution— before the people we serve. I wonder if we let it become a goal in itself, instead of a means to help us achieve greater goals.

Some suggestions for you :

He could end it. Only, he could not. He was going to die, perhaps the world would die, but he could not make himself kill another woman. Somehow.

The bed was narrow, the woman's elbows sharp and her feet icy despite thick blankets trapping the warmth of the small, tiled stove built in beneath the bed.

How long had he been doing what was necessary instead of what was right? In a fair world they would be one and the same.

Women often seemed to leave things unsaid, and in his limited experience it was what they did not say that proved the most trouble.

The pin was the smallest part of a pair of scissors, and the easiest made, but without it, the scissors cut no cloth.

Let a woman know you were nervous, and she put her own construction on it, and sympathy went right out the window.

You come back here, or I'll hero you! I'll thump you so you think you've had an adventure!

As always! Why should I be surprised? Spread the word, Nynaeve. Tell Ituralde, Rhuarc, King Darlin. Tomorrow, we invade Shayol Ghul and claim it as our own! If we must put our head into the lion's mouth, let us make certain that he chokes upon our flesh!

I surrender to it, and by surrendering, I control it.

To marry the Daughter of the Nine Moons! To die and live again, and live once more a part of what was! To give up half the light of the world to save the world!

Does it make you brave to stick your hand in a bear's mouth? Would you do it again just because you didn't die?

It still isn't right for us to have flowers when there are people who do not have enough to eat.

If a sword had memory, it might be grateful to the forge fire, but never fond of it.

Blank eyes. Empty eyes. A doll's eyes. Eyes more dead than death.