I wished to be loved by another. But I desire no man's pity.

Tell me, who are you, alone, yourself and nameless?

So fair, so cold; like a morning of pale spring still clinging to winter's chill.

The romantic chivalric tradition takes, or at any rate has in the past taken, the young man's eye off women as they are, as companions in shipwreck not guiding stars.

I sit beside the fire and think of people long ago, and of people who will see a world that I shall never know.

Why O why did I ever leave my hobbit-hole?" said poor Mr. Baggins, bumping up and down on Bombur's back.

Not everyone who wanders is lost.