Stir not the bitterness in the cup that I mixed for myself,' said Denethor. 'Have I not tasted it now many nights upon my tongue, foreboding that worse lay in the dregs?

Cold be hand and heart and bone, and cold be sleep under stone: never more to wake on stony bed, never, till the Sun fails and the Moon is dead. In the black wind the stars shall die, and still on gold here let them lie, till the dark lord lifts his hand over dead sea and withered land.

The wide world is all about you: you can fence yourselves in, but you cannot for ever fence it out.

What has roots as nobody sees, Is taller than trees Up, up it goes, And yet never grows? A mountain.

A wizard is never late, nor is he early, he arrives precisely when he means to.

How do you move on? You move on when your heart finally understands that there is no turning back.

The enemy? His sense of duty was no less than yours, I deem. You wonder what his name is, where he came from. And if he was really evil at heart. What lies or threats led him on this long march from home. If he would not rather have stayed there in peace. War will make corpses of us all.