Egwene Quotes

Advice!Nobody tells us how to be men. We just are." "That is probably why you make such a bad job of it.- Perrin and Egwene

I have never known anyone else," Egwene said to him, "who will work so hard to avoid hard work, Matrim Cauthon.

It was easier to be brave when someone needed your protection.

My mother says men are different from us. She says we want to be in love, but only with the one we want; a man needs to be in love, but he will love the first woman to tie a string to his heart. - Egwene, speaking to Elayne

Death is lighter than a feather, duty heavier than a mountain. So many duties. Egwene.

So long as we do not depend on the facts entirely, incomplete knowledge is better than complete ignorance. --Egwene al'Vere

I love words," Mat said. "There are some deliciously pretty words out there. 'Smile.' That's always sounded like a pretty word to me. Don't you think? Or, perhaps, the words 'I promise not to kill Egwene right now for trying to touch me, the Empress, may I live forever, because we really bloody need her for the next couple of weeks or so.'" He eyeed Fortuona pointedly.

And yet many of us do it without families," Nynaeve said. "Without love, without passion beyond our own particular interests. So even while we try to guide the world, we separate ourselves from it.We risk arrogance, Egwene. We always assume we know best, but risk making ourselves unable to fathom the people we claim to serve.

You are as eloquent as ever, Mat," Egwene said dryly. "Do you still have your pet fox?" "I do," Mat said. "He's snuggled up nice and warm.

What did you spend so much time talking about with Ila? If you weren’t dancing with that long-legged fellow, you were talking to her like it was some kind of secret.” “Ila was giving me advice on being a woman,” Egwene replied absently. He began laughing, and she gave him a hooded, dangerous look that he failed to see. “Advice! Nobody tells us how to be men. We just are.” “That,” Egwene said, “is probably why you make such a bad job of it.

What does finding the Horn count if I abandon Egwene to this? If I did that, the Horn couldn't save me. The Creator couldn't save me. I would damn myself.

He was a soldier. He was a shepherd. He was a beggar, and a king. He was a farmer, gleeman, sailor, carpenter. He was born, lived, and died Aiel. He died mad, he died rotting, he died of sickness, accident, age. He was executed, and multitudes cheered his death. He proclaimed himself the Dragon Reborn and flung his banner across the sky; he ran from the Power and hid; he lived and died never knowing. He held off the madness and the sickness for years; he succumbed between two winters. Sometimes Moiraine came and took him away from the Two Rivers, alone or with those of his friends who had survived Winternight; sometimes she did not. Sometimes other Aes Sedai came for him. Sometimes Red Ajah. Egwene married him; Egwene, stern-faced in stole of Amyrlin Seat, led Aes Sedai who gentled him; Egwene, with tears in her eyes, plunged a dagger into his heart, and he thanked her as he died. He loved other women, married other women. Elayne, and Min, and a fair-haired farmer's daughter met on the road to Caemlyn, and women he had never seen before he lived those lives. A hundred lives. More. So many he could not count them. And at the end of every life, as he lay dying, as he drew his final breath, a voice whispered in his ear. I have won again, Lews Therin. Flicker.

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.” “Devotion is important, Nynaeve. The White Tower protects and guides the world.” “And yet, so many of us do it without families,” Nynaeve said. “Without love, without passion beyond our own particular interests. So even while we try to guide the world, we separate ourselves from it. We risk arrogance, Egwene. We always assume we know best, but risk making ourselves unable to fathom the people we claim to serve.

It is all right to hate them, Egwene. It is. They deserve it. But it isn’t all right to let them make you like they are.

Rage did her no good. You didn't get mad at the weasel who was sneaking into your yard and eating your hens. You simply laid a trap and disposed of the animal. Anger was pointless. - Egwene, pg. 77

Rand stared at her for a moment. "Well, you could certainly stop being a spoiled, self-certain, unmitigated brat for once, Egwene.

Egwene didn't notice someone new entering the tent. Rand did, however, and he spun as the flaps parted and let in light. He frowned at the interloper. His frown died as soon as he saw the person who entered. Moiraine.

People are people, low or high.

If you boys... you men can do what has to be done when you'd rather do almost anything else, why do you think I will do less? Or Egwene

The old blood is indeed still strong in the Two Rivers.

Light, Egwene thought. I wonder how long it's been since a meeting of this scale occurred.

The Seanchan fight the Shadow. -message from Dragon Reborn to Egwene

Egwene remembered her pity for poor Meidani. No sister should be treated in such a way. Imprisonment was one thing. But beating a woman down, toying with her, hinting at the torture to come? It was insufferable. Each of these things was a pain inside of Egwene, a knife to the chest, piercing the heart. As the beating continued, she realized that nothing they could do to her body would ever compare to the pain of soul she felt at seeing the White Tower suffer beneath Elaida's hand. Compared with those internal agonies, the beating was ridiculous. And so she began to laugh.

The one time Egwene had protested that Elyas was the one who wanted to go around hills and he should not blame them, it got her a lecture on how sound carried, delivered in a growl that could have been heard a mile off.

They were coming back to where they had begun. As her foot hit the spot, Egwene said, ‘That's one,’ and ran on through the darkness with no one to see but Aviendha, no one to say whether she went back to her tent right then. Aviendha would not have told, but it never occurred to Egwene to stop short of the fifty.

hope is like a piece of string when you’re drowning; it just isn’t enough to get you out by itself.” Egwene

Egwene struggled visibly, latching onto the smallest part, the most inconsequential, of what Moiraine had said. “How can reading put him in trouble?

Egwene strode around a frozen pillar of glass in her dream. It almost looked like a column of light. What did it mean? She could not interpret it.

The leaf lives its appointed time, and does not struggle against the wind that carries it away. The leaf does no harm, and finally falls to nourish new leaves. So it should be with all men. And women.” Egwene

I feel . . .” Egwene began weakly, and stopped to swallow. Her face was bloodless pale. “I . . . hurt.” A tear leaked from one eye. “Of course you do,” Sorilea said briskly. “That is what happens when you let yourself be caught in a man’s schemes.

As the plow breaks the earth shall he break the lives of men, and all that was shall be consumed in the fire of his eyes,’ ” Egwene said. “ ‘The trumpets of war shall sound at his footsteps, the ravens feed at his voice, and he shall wear a crown of swords.

This is it, Egwene,” Mat said. “Take a deep breath, a last pull on the brandy, or burn your final pinch of tabac. Have a good look at the ground before you, as it’s soon going to be covered in blood. In an hour, we’ll be in the thick of it. The Light watch over us all.

He could never get a straight answer from them regarding what Egwene’s status was currently. He’d heard rumors that she’d been imprisoned, no longer allowed to roam free as a novice. But getting information from an Aes Sedai was about as easy as churning rocks into butter!

Are you sure you want to come, Mat?” Rand asked. Mat shrugged and affected a grin, not a very confident one. “Who could pass up a chance to see bloody Rhuidean?” Egwene raised her eyebrows at him. “Oh, pardon my language, Aes Sedai. I’ve heard you say as bad, and for less cause, I’ll wager.

A shepherd with a heron-mark sword," said a low, woman's voice. "That's almost enough to make me believe anything. What trouble are you in, downcountry boy?" Startled, Rand jumped to his feet. It was the crop-haired young woman who had been with Moiraine when he came out of the bath chamber, still dressed in a boy's coat and breeches. She was a little older than he was, he thought, with dark eyes even bigger than Egwene's, and oddly intent. "You are Rand, aren't you?" she went on. "My name is Min.

Thank you, Master Gleeman. I would be happy to assist you." "Thom Merrilin," the gleeman said. They stared. "My name is Thom Merrilin, not Master Gleeman." He hitched the multihued cloak up on his shoulders, and abruptly his voice once more seemed to reverberate in a great hall. "Once a Court bard, I am now indeed risen to the exalted rank of Master Gleeman, yet my name is plain Thom Merrilin, and gleeman is the simple title in which I glory." And he swept a bow so elaborate with flourishes of his cloak that Mat clapped and Egwene murmured appreciatively.

What does ‘sister-wife’ mean?” she asked hesitantly. “That you have the same husband.” Aviendha frowned at the way Egwene gasped and Nynaeve’s eyes opened as wide as they would go. Elayne had been half-expecting the answer, but she still found herself fussing with skirts that were perfectly straight. “This is not your custom?” the Aiel woman asked. “No,” Egwene said faintly. “No, it is not.” “But you and Elayne care for one another as first-sisters. What would you have done had one of you been unwilling to step aside for Rand al’Thor? Fight over him? Let a man damage the ties between you? Would it not have been better if you both had married him, then?

Are you truly that eager?” Nynaeve asked. “To fight Trollocs?” Ingtar gave her a puzzled look, then glanced at Lan as if the Warder might explain. “That is what I do, Lady,” he said slowly. “That is why I am.” He raised a gauntleted hand to Lan, open palm toward the warder. “Suravye ninto manshima taishite, Dai Shan. Peace favor your sword.” Pulling his horse around, Ingtar rode east with his bannerman and his hundred lances. They went at a walk, but a steady pace, as fast as armored horses could manage with a far distance yet to go. “What a strange thing to say,” Egwene said. “Why do they use it like that? Peace.” “When you have never known a thing except to dream,” Lan replied, heeling Mandarb forward, “it becomes more than a talisman.

Lan leaned against his saddle with apparent casualness, but one hand rested ostentatiously on the long hilt of his sword. There was an air about him of a metal spring, compressed, waiting. Rand hurriedly copied the Warder’s pose—at least insofar as putting his hand on his sword. He did not think he could achieve that deadly-seeming slouch. They’d probably laugh if I tried. Perrin eased his axe in its leather loop and planted his feet deliberately. Mat put a hand to his quiver, though Rand was not sure what condition his bowstring was in after being out in all this damp. Thom Merrilin stepped forward grandly and held up one empty hand, turning it slowly. Suddenly he gestured with a flourish, and a dagger twirled between his fingers. The hilt slapped into his palm, and, abruptly nonchalant, he began trimming his fingernails. A low, delighted laugh floated from Moiraine. Egwene clapped as if watching a performance at Festival, then stopped and looked abashed, though her mouth twitched with a smile just the same.

Ila was giving me advice on being a woman,” Egwene replied absently. He began laughing, and she gave him a hooded, dangerous look that he failed to see. “Advice! Nobody tells us how to be men. We just are.” “That,” Egwene said, “is probably why you make such a bad job of it.” Up ahead, Elyas cackled loudly.

three, and while he breathed, he could not abandon Elayne or Egwene.

Advice! Nobody tells us how to be men. We just are.” “That,” Egwene said, “is probably why you make such a bad job of it.

You want stories?” Thom Merrilin declaimed. “I have stories, and I will give them to you. I will make them come alive before your eyes.” A blue ball joined the others from somewhere, then a green one, and a yellow. “Tales of great wars and great heroes, for the men and boys. For the women and girls, the entire Aptarigine Cycle. Tales of Artur Paendrag Tanreall, Artur Hawkwing, Artur the High King, who once ruled all the lands from the Aiel Waste to the Aryth Ocean, and even beyond. Wondrous stories of strange people and strange lands, and of the Green Man, of Warders and Trollocs, of Ogier and Aiel. The Thousand Tales of Anla, the Wise Counselor. ‘Jaem the Giant-Slayer.’ How Susa Tamed Jain Farstrider. ‘Mara and the Three Foolish Kings.’” “Tell us about Lenn,” Egwene called. “How he flew to the moon in the belly of an eagle made of fire. Tell us about his daughter Salya walking among the stars.” Rand looked at her out of the corner of his eye, but she seemed intent on the gleeman. She had never liked stories about adventures and long journeys. Her favorites were always the funny ones, or the stories about women outwitting people who were supposed to be smarter then everyone else.

gallop could not take him away from his own thoughts. Death is lighter than a feather, duty heavier than a mountain. So many duties. Egwene. The Horn. Fain. Mat and his dagger. Why can’t there just be one at a time? I have to take care of all of them. Oh, Light, Egwene!

Advice! Nobody tells us how to be men. We just are.” “That,” Egwene said, “is probably why you make such a bad job of it.” Up ahead, Elyas cackled loudly.

Podía hablar cuanto quisiera sobre hacerla novicia otra vez; incluso si Elaida lo creía realmente, Egwene al’Vere no. Tampoco se consideraba una prisionera. Había llevado la lucha al mismísimo corazón de la Torre. De haber tenido labios donde se encontraba en esos momentos, habría sonreído.

Tan pronto como Tervail soltó el faldón de la entrada, ella abrazó el Saidar y tejió Energía casi de un modo acariciador. Ese tejido la fascinaba, la recuperación de algo que se creía perdido para siempre y sin lugar a dudas el mayor descubrimiento de Egwene al’Vere. Cada vez que lo tejía experimentaba esa sensación de maravilla, tan familiar de novicia e incluso de Aceptada, que no había vuelto a sentir desde que había alcanzado el chal. Algo nuevo y maravilloso.

Nadie le tiene puesta correa a Egwene al’Vere. Es inteligente, observadora, rápida en aprender y hábil. Es posible que se convierta en una de las grandes Amyrlin. —La hermana de aspecto de pájaro soltó una repentina y corta risa— . ¿Te das cuenta de que será la Amyrlin que dure más tiempo en la Sede de toda la historia? Ninguna otra vivirá lo suficiente para superarla, a menos que Egwene decida renunciar antes.

El castigo continuó y Egwene abrazó el dolor, lo incorporó a su ser, y lo juzgó insignificante, impaciente porque acabara de una vez. Tenía mucho que hacer.

Egwene asintió despacio con la cabeza. En cualquier cosa relacionada con el Oscuro, todo era posible. Siuan sonrió con satisfacción y orgullo. Esta chica estaba aprendiendo a ser Amyrlin. ¡Luz, era ya Amyrlin!

La Amyrlin permanecía sentada en el taburete con expresión pensativa; Amyrlin de la cabeza a los pies. Imposible pensar en Egwene de otra forma. ¿Cómo había aprendido tan deprisa alguien tan joven? Esa espalda recta, esa actitud serena, ese aplomo. Tener el mando no tenía tanto que ver con el poder que se poseía, sino con el poder que uno dejaba entrever que poseía.

—No has prestado los Tres Juramentos —barbotó Elaida con severidad al tiempo que se volvía hacia ella. —Sí lo he hecho —la contradijo Egwene—. No sostenía la Vara Juratoria, pero no es la Vara la que hace ciertas mis promesas. He pronunciado las palabras de los juramentos con el corazón, y para mí son más preciados porque no hay nada que me obligue a cumplirlos. Y por ese juramento al que estoy obligada, te lo repito de nuevo: soy una Soñadora y he soñado que los seanchan atacarán la Torre Blanca.

—No tengo por qué rebatir nada a una simple novicia —barbotó—. La Amyrlin no tiene que dar explicaciones a alguien como tú. —La Amyrlin entiende de credos y de los debates más complejos —se puso a recitar de memoria Egwene—. No obstante, al final es la sierva de todos, incluso de los trabajadores más humildes.

Querría no encontrarme aquí, Elaida —dijo suavemente Egwene—. Ojalá que la Torre tuviera en ti una gran Amyrlin. Ojalá pudiera agacharme ante ti y aceptar tu liderazgo. Ojalá lo merecieras. Aceptaría de buen grado la ejecución si con ello dejara atrás una Amyrlin competente. La Torre Blanca es más importante que yo. ¿Puedes decir lo mismo tú?

Desde luego, era evidente que quedaba poco del muchacho con el que había crecido. Claro que tampoco quedaba mucho de la joven Egwene. Atrás quedaban los días en que los dos parecían destinados a contraer matrimonio para vivir en una pequeña granja de Dos Ríos.

—¿Silviana? —repitió Meidani, sorprendida—. ¿Pero no te azota a diario? —Varias veces al día —precisó Egwene con aire absorto—. Es cumplidora y consecuente con su deber, además de juiciosa. Si tuviésemos más como ella, la Torre no habría llegado a esta situación, para empezar. Meidani miró a Egwene con una expresión curiosa. —Eres realmente la Amyrlin —dijo por último la Gris.

Fui ascendida al chal por Egwene al’Vere, la Amyrlin a la que afirmáis servir. Si negáis que Nynaeve y yo somos Aes Sedai, entonces negáis a la Sede Amyrlin que nos envió a encontrar el Cuenco de los Vientos, cosa que hemos hecho. ¡No lo admitiré! Te lo advierto, Merilille Ceandevin. ¡Acata la voluntad de la Sede Amyrlin o seré yo quien te someta a juicio como una rebelde traidora!

—Yo también quiero dejar muy claro algo —replicó fríamente Egwene. Se echó hacia adelante y clavó una severa mirada en la Asentada Azul—. Se exige cierto grado de respeto hacia la Sede Amyrlin, y de ahora en adelante me lo mostrarás, hija. Éste no es momento de que me vea obligada a destituirte como Asentada e imponer un correctivo.

Madre, ¿puedo preguntaros por qué...? —Enmudeció bajo la inflexible mirada de Egwene, y tragó saliva—. Se hará como decís, madre —musitó lentamente—. Qué extraño. Recuerdo el día que vos y Nynaeve llegasteis a la Torre, dos muchachitas que no sabían si brincar de alegría o encogerse de miedo. Cuántas cosas han cambiado desde entonces. Todo. —Nada es inmutable —contestó Egwene, al tiempo que dirigía una mirada significativa a Siuan, la cual rehusó darse por enterada.

Realicé un buen trabajo como Amyrlin, pero no habría sido capaz de llevar a cabo lo que ella ha logrado. Dirigir por inspirar respeto, en lugar de por la fuerza. Unir en lugar de dividir. Y por ello me alegro de que sea Egwene quien lo recibe.