It cannot be seen, cannot be felt, Cannot be heard, cannot be smelt, It lies behind stars and under hills, And empty holes it fills, It comes first and follows after, Ends life, kills laughter.

Do not scorn pity that is the gift of a gentle heart, Éowyn!

It is not the strength of the body that counts, but the strength of the spirit.

End? No, the journey doesn't end here. Death is just another path... One that we all must take.

Still round the corner there may wait A new road or a secret gate And though I oft have passed them by A day will come at last when I Shall take the hidden paths that run West of the Moon, East of the Sun.

I have talked quite long enough about my own follies. The thing is to finish the thing as devised and then let it be judged. But forgive me! It is written in my life-blood, such as that is, thick or thin; and I can no other.

All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given us.